Forever and a day
by Bond.Jane
Summary: Nothing in the Universe happens just once. Infinity goes in both directions. There is no unique event, no singular moment" Temperance Brennan . Sometimes, a love is just to great to fit in one single life time. FINAL CHAPTER NOW UP!
1. The threshold of unhapiness

**Author's note:**

"**Nothing in the Universe happens just once. Infinity goes in both directions. There is no unique event, no singular moment."  
Temperance Brennan, **_**The skull in the desert**_**, season one.**

**I was watching this episode sometime ago and that sentence stuck with me. It was just so rational an explanation for something that has been in my mind for so long. I'm not entirely sure if I believe in reincarnation. But I've always been curious, especially about déjà vu. I don't like **_**The Matrix**_** approach. But the more I think about this issue, the more it seems to me that it would be a great waste of soul if we only had one shot at life. That we cannot possibly learn everything we need in one life time and that, sometimes, we deserve a second chance (or as many as are needed) Or that, sometimes, an emotion, a love is so great that one life time is not enough and it transcends what we perceive as the laws of chronology. Maybe this can explain the connections we feel with certain people.**

**This fiction is going to be somewhat long, but the good news is that the story is nearly ready. **

**For ease, I've kept the names and some physical characteristics. It is just a little fictional freedom.**

**Please do leave your comments. They are very, very important and very much appreciated. **

**Jane**

England – 1588

"_Love knows not of rank or river bank!"_

William Shakespeare

Chapter 1- The threshold of unhappiness

Lord Seeley Booth rode his horse back into the stables. With a click of his tongue, the animal moved forward. Jupiter was a good horse- gifted with intelligence that Lord Booth liked to think of as almost human. And it moved with his rider as if they were one body. Jupiter trotted into the stables with its head lowered in an expression that mirrored that of Lord Booth's. It was never a happy moment to walk back into the manor. And, sure enough, as soon as he passed the threshold, Lord Booth received wife's summons from his major-domo his. He walked into the drawing room still in his ridding attire. Lady Rebecca's eyes had a way of expressing her displeasure in such an unmistakeable way that she hardly ever needed words. And yet, she did not shy away from a few well chose ones.

"Our guests have left us this morning. I had expected you to be here. There are still duties you should perform- despite your age, dear husband" and she seemed, despite the quiet tone, to be spitting venom. "I was forced to make your excuses and, with God as my witness, I do not intend to compromise my soul just to safeguard your reputation."

Lord Booth sighed. There was little use in arguing any point. After 30 years of an arranged, suitable marriage, he had come to understand his wife's moods and responses. She would interpret his silence as she pleased and then just proceed with a few more well aimed blows.

Theirs was not a marriage of love or even affection. All in all, he found it more productive to just ride out the storm- and then carry on in his usual way- at least in what was important to him. He'd learned to compromise in the rest.

When he finally managed to escape her domains, he walked, head lowered in exhaustion, towards his own rooms. He could feel the weight of his 55 years more heavily after each battle with Rebecca. He felt more than old- he felt ancient- and longing for a rest from life.

The corridors of the manor were dark from the patina of time and the oak panelling and they impressed on him the weight he had inherited along with those walls- the duty towards his land, his tenants, his Queen, his title- an overbearing responsibility he had never wanted and that would die with him has he had sired no heirs. Rebecca, he knew, blamed him for the fact and could not- would not- forgive him for that shortcoming.

He had longed for a child- not an heir. A child to share warmth and love with. Someone to show the sky at night and the animals in the woods during the day. A boy or a girl to squander affection on, to read to in the evening. A child to fill that silent house with light and laughter.

It was a sound so crystalline, so pure, he stopped to enjoy the hallucination, eyes closed his stance weary. He felt a flurry of movement and opened his eyes. In front of him stood two girls in the maids black uniforms, wearing a shocked and horrified look in their faces. They looked at each other and then back at him fumbling for an apology that would not materialize.

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	2. Blue Brown and the shades in between

Chapter 1.2- Blue, brown and the shades in between

Lord Booth was, himself, fumbling for something to say. It was not often he met servants in his corridors. Apart from his valet and the major-domo, they seemed to be a whole race of invisible people that scurried of like ants every time he approached their domains.

As he struggled for composure, he took in the sight before him. Two girls- couldn't be more than 18 or 19- the laughter he'd heard before completely gone from their faces, replaced by fear. A pair of eyes black as night and a second pair, blue as the summer sky that, to his mind, should be smiling- not worrying. He tried to sooth them  
"Don't worry, I don't bite" and he smiled. The girl with the black eyes held onto the hand of the other girl in a gesture of utter fear. But the girl with the blue eyes held fast.

"Beg your pardon, Sir, we did not mean to disturb you... we were just cleaning the fire in this room and... we're sorry Sir" she finished with a sigh. But her eyes never left Lord Booth's

"Lower your eyes, you insolent waif!" Lady Rebecca, appearing as if out of thin air said, barely above a whisper, but her words were like a whip, "Show some respect to your master."

This time, the girl with the black eyes was the only one who found the strength to answer.

"Yes, Ma'am, Sorry, Ma'am, She did not mean anything by it" and she curtsied in a way that had Lady Rebecca cringing.

"Move along, you two, out of my sight! And you, Tess, to my rooms now!" She motioned her chambermaid to follow her.

The two girls nodded their heads and nearly ran towards the servants' quarters.

It was their first encounter with both Lord and Lady Booth, despite working at the estate for almost a year now. It was easy to miss them as servants were only as good as how invisible they managed to make themselves. It was, in Angela's mind, very clear that they were going to be dismissed on account of the incident in the corridor. Her black eyes were filled with tears- as she anticipated what little options they had left.

Temperance took Angela's hand and pulled her out of the kitchen towards the herb garden. When they sat, Temperance removed two apples from the front pocket of her white apron and handed one to Angela. Her blue eyes had worry all over them, but she still smiled in encouragement.

"Come on, eat it. If we're being sent home, might as well eat before we go!" And she pulled Angela into a hug that comforted her friend as much as herself.

Lord Booth knew his wife's ways well enough to know what would be next for the two girls. And though he knew when not to contradict her, this time, he felt he had to keep those two girls around. He longed for that laughter, now he had heard it. He resented that about his life, the lack of laughter, the lack of warmth. He didn't regret his age, nor his life. It was too late for that. A soldier at heart, he had thrived in the orderly, calm life of the soldiers, far away from the armed peace at home, far from the silence. Bud God, how he longed for the laughter and warmth he had just seen, as if he had just found a part of himself missing, a vital part.

He braved into the almost uncharted territory of his wife's rooms. He knocked and didn't wait for a reply to walk in. His wife and Tess, her stern chambermaid looked at him in astonishment. He motioned the servant out of the room with a simple nod of his head. Tess took one final look at her mistress but received no reply. Even Lady Rebecca knew there were some things you just could not offend her husband with. Defy his authority was one of them. As it was, she knew she was getting away with a lot.

"Sir", she greeted in a flat tone designed to keep him at a distance. Theirs had never been a match of love. Or with love. For a long time now, it had become a match full of disappointments and silent recriminations especially for what, to her mind, he had been unable to give her: children, heirs and, therefore, validation as a woman and as an aristocrat.

"My lady! You've been keeping well, I trust..." There were pleasantries to be observed.

"With the grace of God, Sir!" There was a time, Lord Booth remembered, when she'd had a smile in her eyes. The years had been unkind to that smile, though not to her looks. She was still beautiful- if cold and aloof. He moved to the subject that had brought him there.

"What do you intend to do to those two maids?" The sudden direct approach shocked her. She composed herself swiftly.

"They are not good enough, Sir. They are not appropriate for manor duty. Think, I ask you, if, instead of you, it had been a guest." She was certain of her logic and of her right to run the house as she pleased.

"Then I ask you, madam, let them learn how to be adequate servants. It would please me greatly if you kept them at your service." Lady Rebecca knew she could not deny a request- a polite request. She was out of options. Or maybe not entirely. She blamed those cursed books her husband was so fond of reading. He had tried to talk to her about them, about that utopia thing. As far as she was concerned, it was heresy and she wanted to hear none of it.

Then, the thought that there might be another reason for Lord Booth's request formed in her mind. Maybe he had developed a sinful interest in one of them. Or both.

Lord Booth knew his wife well enough to read her thoughts in her eyes He was shocked and offended by it.

"I am too old for that, my Lady. They are but children. And for all it's worth, I've always been faithful to you. I do not intend to be otherwise now!" And he left the room, his eyes burning and his throat tight.

Tess moved to enter the room as soon as her master left. Her mistress was upset, she could see. But it was not her place to offer solace. Though she wanted to.

"Tess, you will ensure those girls learn the ways of this house. It is my husband's wish they remain at our service" Lady Rebecca felt bitter tears of humiliation prick her eyes. And for that those two waifs would pay dearly.

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	3. You stumble upon love

Chapter 1.3- You stumble upon love

Lord Booth retired to the library, his personal haven. He poured himself some whiskey and sat at the table where he had "Utopia" open. It always soothed him to sit among his treasure- the books and artefacts he'd collected in his travels through the continent before his marriage. Had it not been for family duty, he wouldn't have returned at all. The manor was not a home to him, but a prison. His heart longed for the adventures lived in France and Italy and all he had learnt with the great men he'd met there. His greatest pleasures had been those of the mind though he had pursued many young women. He remembered reading Plato and discussing his ideas long ago. Could it be there was love, pure, perfect love like that? He had not seen it in his life. A brief glimpse in his wife's eyes, in the beginning, when they were both young and fresh. But it was not to be so. Too long ago his marriage had settled into bitterness and recriminations. Maybe love was just another Utopia, a beautiful, impractical dream of warmth and belonging. He sighed.

There was a knock on the door. One of the servants had sniffed him out in there. Was his peace never to last?

"Enter", he commanded. Tess entered and Lord Booth felt his heart sink.

"Sir," Tess motioned two maids in. Though Lord Booth would have preferred not to be disturbed he did not protest against the intrusion. With minute movements of the head and hands, the woman commanded one of the maids to kindle the fire and the other to set a tray with his supper on the table. When he looked up, he found the same penetrating pair of blue eyes he'd seen earlier in the corridor. Gone was the kindle of humour he'd imagined, but the panic remained. He could not stop himself from staring, his brown eyes caught in hers. She stared back at him as if, she too, could not help herself. Then her attention shifted to the book open on the table, the printed characters on it, the illustrations. She was busy taking it all in and forgot about Tess who had been ensuring Angela did not scatter soot and that the fire was properly lit. On turning, she surprised Temperance's avid look towards the book.

"Get a move on, girl!" Temperance almost jumped out of her skin. She turned and followed Tess out of the room. The door closed softly leaving Lord Booth with a pair of blue eyes tattooed on his heart. He felt foolish, tired. He was entertaining thoughts about love. His wife was furious, he knew her well enough to know that, and he had just defied her over two maids. He sighed. Not much to do about it. Sometimes it was just like that, an Utopia and a dream . Sometimes you couldn't help but turn toward the light and the warmth like the sunflowers. God, he was helpless, soon he would be quoting Master Shakespeare, so fashionable in his Queen's palaces. How did it go?

"_Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,(…)  
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:  
For then my thoughts--from far where I abide--  
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,(…)  
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,  
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find."_

*****

He did not set eyes on any of the girls for some time. It had occurred to him several times to take a stroll to the servants quarters, perhaps finding an excuse for his adventure so that he could snatch a look at the girls. Perhaps he could hear that laughter again. He would then dismiss the thought as undignified.

********

On the eve of the Summer solstice, Lord Booth, feeling restless, took Jupiter out of his stall and rode through his land. Being the landlord, he was stopped several times by some of his tenants eager to show him their diligent work. He managed to escape into the woods. There was a lake, hidden so well few knew it existed. He dismounted and allowed Jupiter to graze in the green luscious grass. He disrobed up to his white undergarments and, possessed by a sudden urge, dived into the cool crystalline waters of the lake. Despite the years, Lord Booth was a vital man, lover of physical activities and his body did not betray him. He formed a graceful arch and jumped into the water, head first. The water was cool against the heat of the day and caressed his body like a lover. A tall canopy of trees guarded of the summer heat and the light played games with the foliage in a dance of shades.

When he came back up for air, Lord Booth felt watched. He tried to dismiss the feeling but, as he turned to assure himself he was imagining things, he saw Temperance- and her blue eyes. She was transfixed, mesmerized and made no effort to disguise her attention. Feeling self conscious, Lord Booth got out of the water. His white undergarments clung shamelessly to his body, offering Temperance an eye full of the man. He must have been about the same age as her useless father, but Lord Booth was as far removed from Tom Brennan as the moon was from the earth. She had never seen a man naked- or near naked before and was surprised to enjoy the view. In her mother's words, men were the ugliest beasts. She did not agree. No, she did not agree in the least bit!

"How did you find this place, child?" Lord Booth was the first to break the spell they were both under.

"I am not a child, Sir!" Temperance flushed. Indeed, Lord Booth thought, she was not. At that moment, she was all woman.

"What's your name, then, my Lady?" and he bowed his head. He had intended to be sarcastic, but she seemed to miss it.

"Temperance, Sir. But you don't need to remember that... How did you do that in the water?" She was having trouble understanding that.

"Swimming, you mean? Well, you see, objects float in the water."

"Rocks sink…" her eyes were all inquisitive now.

"So will you if you're standing…" he explained but she looked unconvinced. "I'll show you. Come into the water" She was torn between propriety and curiosity. Curiosity won. She took off her apron and her overdress. Then she removed the white cap and her hair tumbled in a cascade of brown shiny silk that took, in the games of light and shadow, the appearance of liquid gold. She walked into the water, fearless and dragged Lord Booth's heart with her.

Sometimes it was like that, he thought, there was light and warmth. He felt himself sink in it against his convictions and his honour as a husband. You stumble upon love, he thought.

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	4. Shadows moving in the dark

Chapter 1.4- Shadows moving in the dark

Lord Booth followed her into the water, stretched his arms and told her to lay back. She calculated the movement and, leaning back, stretched her body, laying backwards, hesitantly. Lord Booth's hands held her by the shoulders and urged her to stretch her legs leaving the safety of the lake bed. She did as he asked trusting him absolutely. Her body floated to the surface of the water. She laughed- not a giggle, this time, but a rasp sound that echoed through his body. His hands on her shoulders were acutely aware of her body heat. He wanted nothing more than to touch her, her undergarments clinging to her still juvenile forms in a tantalizing manner. It took all his will power not to. She was a child. And him, a married man. Gently, he motioned her out of the water.

"Time to go home now, Temperance"

"I always wanted to know how ducks do it." She smiled softly. He wanted to touch her face so badly it hurt, each of her freckles beaconing him to her

"Well, now you know how. And you've done it yourself. Experience is the mother of all knowledge" He put his clothes on and, once she'd done the same thing, took Jupiter's reins and climbed up. He stretched his hand to her.

"I'll take you home, Temperance" She took his hand and he pulled her up in one swift movement. She was captured between his arms and had never felt so safe in her whole life.

Lord Booth rode towards the manor with Temperance in his arms. He was inebriated by the scent of lavender that she exuded, the heat of her body reaching him through wet clothes. The memory of her joy in the water would never leave him from that day onwards. He was drunk with her presence, with her eyes and her voice, drunk with her words and her curious mind, drunk with her trust. A deep joy, violent joy tore through his body, through his soul. It cannot be, he thought. It can never be. And yet it was. It simply was.

He directed Jupiter towards the stables, dismounted and then took Temperance in his arms to help her down.

From a high up window, Lady Rebecca observed the scene with a dangerously frowned eye.

In her rooms, Lady Rebecca turned to Tess. The command passed between the two women unspoken. Tess, her expression as closed as her mistress', marched towards the servants' quarters and entered the cubicle where the two girls had their bed. She occupied the only stool in the room and waited in the permanent near darkness that was that room. When Angela made her way in, closely followed by Temperance later that day, she was startled by the shadow that moved silently, her fanciful mind quickly taking stock of all possible ghosts. As their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, a feeling of foreboding took over their hearts. Tess stood, her body small and dry, with a horse whip in her hand. She closed the door behind the girls and took Temperance by the arm, tossing her against the closest wall. The whip flew in her hand against Temperance's back hitting her mercilessly. Angela flew in defence of her friend, trying to get in the middle, but Tess was surprisingly strong. She was pushed away with a swift movement that tossed her against the stool with a thud of her head against the wood. Angela lost consciousness. In her own world of pain, Temperance curled like a puppy, trying to protect as much of her body as she could.

"A master should never associate with servants!" It was all over the same way it had begun: a shadow moving out of the dark, dingy room in silent devastation.


	5. Sweet trespass

Chapter 1.5- Sweet trespass

Temperance moved from her corner and crawled to Angela. She took her friend in her arms and cradled her- as much for Angela's benefit as her own. They were not blood sisters- Angela had come from a church where she'd been raised an orphan by the priests- but they might as well have been, so strong was the bond between the two. Temperance ran her hands through Angela's head finding no blood. She had no idea if that was good or bad. She called softly to her friend.

"Angie... Angie, please wake up" Nothing happened. A knot grew tighter and tighter in her throat in her throat. Tears formed in her eyes at the thought of being alone again.

Angela woke up with a moan. She tried to get up, dizzy. No words passed between them. Angela motioned to look at Temperance's back but the other girl made to hide from her, embarrassed. Angela pulled her into a careful hug. When they both felt calmer, Angela lit a candle and rummaged through a trunk at the foot of the bed and took a bag of dried herbs and a white cloth. She fetched a bowl of water from the kitchen and had Temperance lay down on her stomach. Her dress was shredded to strips on the back and there were pieces of cloth imbedded on her skin.

Angela cleaned the wounds with the wet cloth and, as Temperance did not utter a sound, cringed on her behalf. She carefully removed the offending bits of cloth. At each movement Temperance's fingers dug into the straw mattress. Angela could see the tears in her friend's eyes, not quite ready to fall.

She crushed mugwort between her fingers and applied it to each of the cuts, careful not to cause further pain. She tried to sooth her friend's spirit, stroking Temperance's hair as if she could brush away the humiliation on the whipping.

"Tempe, what did you do?" Angela knew it wasn't like her friend to break rules. Tempe had never found a rule worth breaking. Rule breaking was Angela's speciality. And it was usually Temperance that offered comfort and sneaked food to her when she was sent to bed with no supper.

"I didn't do anything, Angie!" tears still refused to fall. "Nothing".

Unaware of the evening's events, Lord Booth was sitting by another of his prized possessions- a telescope he'd had assembled by an Italian scientist on the northern tower of the manor. He had it pointing at Jupiter in the night sky. But even though the skies were offering a clear vision of the planets, he was not paying attention. His mind wandered to the servant girl with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. To what was, unnamed still, so strong he felt powerless to put an end to it.

In the morning, the housekeeper had Temperance carting water from the well into the house for the daily chores. The walk from the yard to the kitchen with the two buckets was painful. The skin on her back was crisscrossed with cuts from the whip and even the touch of the cotton fabric of her dress caused tears to swell up in her eyes.

Lady Rebecca spent a great deal of the day watching from a window on the higher floor.

By supper time, and still with no lunch in her, Temperance was told to carry Lord Booth's supper to the north tower. She was fully expecting Tess to follow her in, much to the resemblance of a guard dog. She was wrong. She took the tray full with roast, bread and wine up the steps, her back complaining with each step she took.

Lord Booth had elected once more to spend the evening watching the movements of the planets. He heard the knock on the door.

"Enter", he spoke distracted.

"Beg your pardon, Sir! I brought your supper." He turned hastily, almost knocking down his precious telescope. He fumbled to hold it in place.

"Put it down on that table, Temperance" he said, still trying to balance the telescope.

"What is that contraption?" Temperance did not miss a beat. She walked to the golden tube-like instrument admiring the shiny knobs and bolts.

"It's a telescope. It magnifies objects at a distance, making them visible to the eye". Lord Booth was taking in her expression, reading fascination, curiosity, astonishment, the eyes wide as lakes.

"I don't know what that means!" He smiled and stretched his hand in invitation.

"Come!" she approached the golden object with care, half scared, half drawn like a magnet. She was fascinating to watch. He regulated the lens and stood aside. She approached her eye to the lens like she had seen him doing, focused her vision and immediately pulled back, looking in the same direction the lens pointed. She laughed at herself and looked through the telescope again.

"It's pretty" she said simply, unable to look away. "Is it very far?"

"It is, yes... it's very far"

"Do you think man will ever travel there?" She never looked away.

"Well, I think one day, maybe. Man can do anything he sets his mind to. A good mind is a very powerful instrument." She considered that for some time, looking at him without letting go of the telescope.

"It's a nice thing to say. I wish I had a good mind. I wish I knew lots of things. I wish I could go to this Jupiter of yours..." and she turned to the turned her attention to the telescope once more, the world outside the tower forgotten, the hunger and the pain in her back. She knew she would dream of Jupiter that night.

Lord Booth heard a strange noise coming from her general direction. He walked towards her. He heard it again. He'd be damned if he sound wasn't her stomach growling.

"Temperance, did you have your supper?" He asked cautiously, the punishments of his youth still fresh in his mind.

"Oh, no, Sir" she replied, eye glued to the telescope, squinting through the lens at the sky. "We do not get our supper until the masters have finished theirs." She was not paying attention to what she was saying.

"And your lunch?"

"I... hum..I've skipped that one as well." She replied, her eyes momentarily lowered to the floor. But only momentarily as she again turned them resolutely to the telescope.

Lord Booth approached her.

"Temperance, come and sit with me. Let's share some supper..." No reply. "I'm tired of eating alone every day. I can tell you all I know about Jupiter" It was like putting a worm on a hook. And she took the bait willingly. She smiled at him, looked once more at the sky. He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the table. But she winced in pain as the cloth was pressed by his hand against the cuts.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"Oh, I just fell from the tree, Sir"  
"You fell? From a tree?" Lord Booth remained unconvinced.

"Yes, Sir... the apple tree..." She could not hold his gaze. He motioned her to the table, careful not to touch her back again.

"And what were you doing up the apple tree?"

"Picking apples, Sir... for pie" She completed hastily when his eyebrow raised like a question mark. Well, that was, at least half true.

"I didn't get any pie..."

"Probably because it wasn't all that good, Sir. When Tess prepared the tray, she didn't put any..."

"Well, we mustn't grumble... but my wife does not allow me the pleasure of apple pie... Let's eat, Temperance."

They shared the meal and information on Jupiter. Temperance often forgot about the food, entranced by the words, the content, the cadence of the manly voice, the small jokes. He welcomed each of her questions, answered each one and soon was talking about his favourite book. "Utopia" usually elicited only displeasure from his wife with its ideals that were, if anything, modest in Lord Booth's opinion. Especially in the matter of ownership of slaves.

"So, you shouldn't beat slaves?" Temperance was digesting the information. Slowly. It was all mind reeling.

"Anyone! You shouldn't beat anyone, not even a dog. You should treat others like you want to be treated. I don't see why this is not a universal truth!" He shook his head in disbelief, missing the knot Temperance was working hard at swallowing.

"And you really believe that?"

"How could anyone not? If we are created in the image of God, how can anyone hurt other images of God?"

"That is beautiful idea, Sir!"

"Yes... Temperance. It is a beautiful idea."

Temperance collected the remaining of supper and carried the tray out of the room. She closed the door behind her, a smile on her face. The smile faded as soon as her eyes got accustomed to the darkness of the corridor. Tess' dried up face was staring at her, the whip from the previous night in her eager hand again.


	6. Good friends, artemis and belladonna

Chapter 1.6- Good friends, artemis and belladonna.

By morning, Temperance was running a high fever. She couldn't muster the energy to move from her bed. The cuts in her back had multiplied and were an angry red now, despite Angela's care. The cook intervened with Tess to leave her in bed for some time. Caroline, the cook, a rotund and motherly woman had a kind heart and brisk manners that managed to scare the living daylights out of Tess. Angela applied more mugwort to the cuts and cold patches to her forehead.

"Why did you stay so long, Tempe? One more beating like this and I'll be taking flowers to your grave!"

"Well, it'll be worth it. Besides, it's wrong, Lord Booth says. He says you shouldn't beat up anyone..." She said a dreamy smile in her face.

"Oh, he did? Then where was he last night? Why didn't he stop Tess?" Angela was angry.

"I didn't tell him... Angie, he showed me Jupiter..." Temperance relayed most of the information she got from Lord Booth. But to Angela they all seemed feverish ravings.

"You can't go back, Tempe. Promise me that... please."  
"I can't. You don't understand, Angela. He's so kind and wise and..."  
"Old?" Angela supplied. "Married?"

"It's not like that, Angela... really!" But she was unconvinced herself. Since the afternoon at the lake, she kept reliving the sensation his hands left on her shoulders. His touch was not that of a gentle father, which her own had never been, not like Angela's, but different, warm and sweet, leaving a trail of fire after it.

"I'll go back as soon as I have a chance, Angie. Swear to God!"

The opportunity presented itself that very evening when Tess told her to take Lord Booth's tray to the Library. Temperance knew she was being set up for another beating but she could not seem to care. The conversations with Lord Booth had been the most exciting events of her whole life. And, being totally honest, the nearness of him made her feel totally aware of her whole body, totally grown up. It was what love was supposed to be like- at least the love of the songs she'd heard the women singing when they went about their chores. Yes, it was a lot like love. One that was forbidden to her. Not that it would matter. He wouldn't even think of her in that way. He was a decent man. And she was willing to risk as many beatings as were needed to be close.

Angela was a good friend. And good friends watch out for each other. So, when she saw Tess taking up post in the kitchen in an ambush for Temperance, she prepared, lovingly, a little soothing tisane, much to Tess' taste. She added artemis and belladonna. It wouldn't take much, barely enough to taste different. So she added honey to sweeten it and offered it to the woman sitting rigidly by the door. Sure enough, in a few minutes, Tess was leaning against the wall, snoring softly. Angela smiled a mischievous smiled and hopped to bed with a light heart.

Up in the library, supper over, Temperance removed a cloth from the front pocket of her apron and revealed a huge slice of apple pie she offered Lord Booth along with her heart and soul. He took it all, suddenly grateful at life. Late was better than ever, little better than nothing. He was grateful and happy. He leaned back on his chair and took the book he knew Temperance wanted to hear from and read in a slow, sweet rhythm. Her mind was a beautiful thing, eager, attentive, soaking knowledge like his fields during the first rains, after a long, dry summer.

Temperance avoided the beating that night and, as Lord Booth moved on to read from "in praise of folly" she avoided many others. Enough to have the other woman suspicious and, one evening, refusing the tea. Angela was frantic- but couldn't help her friend. She could only stand by when Tess let out a fury from hell on Temperance. She ran from the kitchen and made her way in the dark to the library door. Somehow, she mustered the courage to knock.

"Enter", a strong, warm voice replied from inside. It was voice that sounded happy. Angela opened the door but did not go in.

"Sir" she hesitated.

"Speak up, child. What is it?"

"Temperance, Sir... Tess..." she couldn't quite articulate. Her heart was pounding in her ears, in her throat.

Lord Booth put down his book and walked out of the door taking Angela by the hand. He made his way to the servants' quarters at a speed he didn't think himself capable of any longer. He didn't quite know what to expect, but it certainly was not the sight in front of him: Temperance curled on the floor like a wounded animal and Tess over her with a horse whip, using all her might in each blow. Lord Booth took the whip on its upward movement surprising Tess.

When the expected blow didn't come, Temperance looked up to see Lord Booth holding the whip and Tess, with an expression of horror, still holding on to where the whip had been.


	7. Glimmers of gold in the afternoon

Chapter 1.7- Glimmers of gold in the warm afternoon

Lord Booth was livid, the anger in his eyes so hot he didn't need any words. He motioned the whip down towards Tess.

"You will never hurt anyone in your life again" and the whip cracked down on Tess' back with a violent whoosh. Temperance jumped up and stood between master and servant.

"Sir!" There was pleading in her voice, "Lord Booth, I beg of you! Don't"

"You ask on her behalf?" He couldn't quite believe his ears. "This is not the first time, is it?" Temperance lowered her eyes, shame burning in them. "And still, you ask on her behalf!" He sounded angry. So angry it scared Temperance.

"I don't ask on her behalf. I ask on yours, Sir! Please, don't do this thing. You don't believe in this! And I believe in you!"

Lord Booth dropped the whip as if it were burning. He ran his hands through his face, tears in his eyes. He wanted to hold her in his arms desperately. He wanted to be young and free and worthy of her. He wanted to carry her to his bed and tend to her wounds. But he could not. He put his finger under her chin, raising her gaze to his.

"You are better than me, Temperance. You honour the name you carry." He stood aside so that Tess would walk out of the room in front of him. Looking at Angela, he put his hand on her shoulder.

"You are a good friend. You don't need to fear anyone in this house, I promise you that!" He stole one more glance at Temperance and, bidding them good night, walked out of the room closing the door behind him. Social status and morals had drawn a line between him and the person he felt closest to in his whole life. God help him, but he wasn't strong enough to cross it. Happiness, it seemed, was to elude him forever. It was too late and he was too tired, too tightly bound to his own position in life, to his own honour and, especially, to his age. It could not be, that love. It had a name, now, he was not a coward so as not to admit it. But it could not be. He would step back, for her sake, and for his as well. Some things were a line that you could not cross.

Tess disappeared for a few days, probably too embarrassed to show her face. Temperance continued to take Lord Booth's supper to the library and though he still read to her from his from his favourite books, there was now a wall between them. He was still kind and affable but that indefinable something that drew them together was kept in check at all times. Temperance followed his lead. She valued her moments with him far too much to jeopardise them.

The house seemed to have settled into a summer routine of long warm days and brief nights, until, one sunny afternoon, when the servants heard marching towards the house. A regiment of the Queen's guards marched into the courtyard, clad in red with impossibly shiny swords in their sheaths, helmets that seemed to sparkle and a banner with the Queen's arms. The commander shouted from the yard

"Is your master in residence?" The question was addressed to the major-domo but it was Lord Booth who answered from the door.

"I am here. What do you want from me?" He was standing proud, his eyes staring directly into the commander's. It was a candid look of someone with nothing to hide.

Lady Rebecca watched the exchange from her window, slightly concealed by the lace curtains. There was no shock in her face, no worry nor concern. Only a small hint of satisfaction.

Temperance came running in from the herb garden spreading at her passage scents of lavender, rosemary and thyme. She stopped at the bottom of the steps in time to hear the commander's announcement echoing through the warm afternoon.  
"Lord Booth, by the authority invested in me by her majesty Elizabeth Regina, you are under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to commit an act of treason. You are to be taken to the Tower of London until you are proven innocent or guilty of these crimes."


	8. The first circle of hell

Chapter 1.8- The first circle of hell

Temperance felt her heart stop and freeze in her chest. She looked at Lord Booth. He was still standing in the steps, every inch of him Lord of that house.

"You are of noble blood, therefore, you will be treated with the respect due to your lineage. You may take a servant and what effects you deem suitable for your daily needs. Make haste, Lord Booth!" The cordial tone in the commander's voice did not disguise the order conveyed.

Lord Booth walked inside the hall. Suddenly, he became old. His warm brown eyes lost the spark in them, the easy smile faded. Of all the accusations, treason was the most hurtful, the most humiliating. He had lived his whole life by a code of honour- no matter what the personal cost. He was a loyal servant to the crown. It was not in his nature to betray- people or causes. He was heartbroken. And he knew, at that very moment, who had pointed a finger at him: his own wife. An eye for an eye was her motto.

Unable to stop herself, Temperance rushed into Lord Booth's rooms. She ran as fast as could knocking on the door and letting herself in without waiting for permission.

"Please Sir, take me! Let me be near you!" He turned to her, shock written in his face.

"Help me pack, please, child." Angela had followed Temperance in. She knew what her friend intended to do and could find no arguments to make her stay. Together they packed clothes and linen, books and personal items. They then watched as Lord Booth made his way outside. He held his head up, his stance that of one with nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. But his shoulders, those who knew him saw it, were bearing the crushing weight of sorrow. Temperance followed him repeating over and over her request.

"Please, Sir, take me with you" She feared that, if she didn't go with him, she would never see him again.

"Child, what service can you possibly be to me? I cannot be expected to care for you where I'm going. I cannot afford that distraction. You are to stay here!" Lord Booth could not be swayed. There was an attempted cruelty in his voice that did not reach his eyes. They pleaded with her that she did not further augment his heartache. He was escorted to a carriage with the Queen's arms but none of the luxury. The cases were loaded and the soldiers departed the manor leaving behind only dust and silence.

Angela motioned Temperance into their room. They held each other for the rest of the day and the greater part of the night. Then, Temperance got up, packed her few belongings and walked into the tower. She carefully disassembled the telescope, put it in its case and carried it the best she could into her own room where she woke Angela up.

"Angie, I'm going to London. I can't stay here. He needs someone by his side!" Recognizing the futility of arguing, Angela got up and went into the kitchen where she prepared a basket with food.

"How are you going to get to London?"  
"I don't know, but I'll find a way.

"I'm going with you!" Angela picked up the basket, her sack with her what little she possessed and walked out of the house.

"Where are you going, Angie?" Temperance was walking behind her, in trouble to carry the heavy case of the telescope.

"You don't want me there, is that it?" Angela seemed to grow several inches when she looked angry like that.

"No, it's not that... I just don't know what's going to happen when we get there... I don't know if you'll be safe!"

"Well, I can take care of myself. I'm not letting you go alone, that's all!" Temperance put her load down and pulled Angela into a fierce hug.

When they reached the road, they were lucky enough to find a merchant on his way to the capital. He had a donkey on a rope and was walking as he had no horse. He informed them that London was not far and that it would take them about two days marching to reach the city walls. It seemed too long for Temperance.

They reached London within the promised time, having shared meals with the merchant and slept under the cover of the still pleasant nights... When they entered the city limits, the girls were dumbfounded. They had never seen so many people together, heard so much noise or smelled such fowl smells of humanity.

They enquired their way towards the Tower of London where Lord Booth was being held. The ravens flew over the prison in dreadful black clouds. Corpses rotted in disgrace, hanging, some, from the executioners noose, others, their heads on poles doting London Bridge with warnings to the catholic conspirers against the crown. Ravens feasted on the dead flesh. The mob demanded death for some miserable soul to placate their roaring fury. It was like walking down to the first circle of hell. Temperance shuddered and Angela had tears in her eyes.

"What a horrible place"

"Come, let's go" and they walked towards the visitors' gate. They announced to the guard who they were visiting. After a long wait, they were allowed in and escorted to one of the cells.

Lord Booth was sitting on a hard chair in a cell with little or no comfort that was not provided by his personal objects. Temperance took in the sight of a man defeated by life, a sadness so great it was almost palpable.

"You shouldn't be here, child. This is no place for you..." He talked without looking at her, his eyes somewhere beyond her reach. She was his Utopia, his beautiful, impossible dream. And as far from his reach as the planets he had shown her, it seemed centuries before, when what he felt had no name yet, when he did not know the path of his destiny, and its unavoidable end.

"Stop calling me that" she protested, trying to sound angry but failing miserably at it "I'm so sorry I disobeyed you!" He did not acknowledge her. She dragged the telescope and set it on a table near him. "Look what I brought you, Sir!" He looked at her for the first time. There was ghost of a smile in his face that did not reach his eyes.

"They brought me in through he traitor's gate" He whispered so softly she could have easily missed it . She made to move towards him. She wanted to touch him and offer solace in the only way knew how. But he stopped her with his hand. "There is nowhere to point it to here, Temperance. But I thank you with all my heart. Now you must go" He was gentle but firm. "Please, go back home" Again he turned, retreating into the world of sadness and dreams and impossible, beautiful hopes he was living in.


	9. Until we meet again

Chapter 1.9- Until we meet again

Temperance did leave the cell but she did not leave London and not even the Tower. With Angela, she found work in the tower parish in exchange for food and a place to stay. During the time of Lord Booth's incarceration, she visited him every night after her chores. Sometimes she was able to take him a slice of apple pie. It became one of his two only pleasures. The other was her mere presence, the warmth of her youth and compassion. She told him stories of the life outside, he pointed to her the cemetery of the Tower's ravens, the place where the Queen's mother had been beheaded and glorious roses grown by the guards. Mostly, they were content with holding hands during the time she was permitted to stay.

Five months after arriving at the tower, Lord Booth received a letter from the Lord Chancellor clearing him of all charges. An investigation into the treason accusation had revealed that there was no truth in it. Her majesty continued to be a friend and knew she had a friend in him and in his house.

A carriage was brought to take him home, this time in luxury. But his health had deteriorated. He had a continuous cough and was running high fevers that, sometimes, made him talk non sense.

Lord Booth and the two girls arrived at the manor on all hallows eve. He was carried to his room where a fire had been lit. There was a warm broth and clean clothes laid out.

Temperance and Angela settled him in. Angela left them alone, her chest tight with apprehension for both her master and the sister of her soul. Lord Booth seemed to have aged 20 years in those five months. He was thin and frail and his hair had turned almost absolutely white. Only his eyes remained the same- full of what Angela knew to be love for Temperance. She knew as well that Lord Booth had consumption and that there was no hope though Temperance could not be persuaded of that. The physician had seen him and the look in his eyes had told her all she needed to know. She was glad that Lord Booth could, at least, spend his final days at home, instead of that terrible place. Angela had been surprised to learn that he had survived his wife. She had died of influenza earlier in October which, to Angela's mind was the only just payment for what she had done to her own husband. She hoped, though she'd been taught otherwise, that she had suffered at least a little.

Lord Booth died that Christmas day. Temperance was laying down at his side. She held his hands in hers, afraid to even look sideways, as if, by sheer will, she could keep him with her, safe from the angels of death the priests had told her about in the catechism classes.

"You know, sweet Temperance, I've known you for less than half a year. And yet, despite being at least 35 years your senior, despite being married, I can tell you now, you were… you are the love of my life." There, it was said aloud, it was the truth. It would always be. He would carry her, her warmth, in his heart towards death, beyond it. That love was his redemption. It would always be, that moment when he loved her and it was true and just and complete.

"Sir... please, don't say goodbye... stay with me!" She was fighting the tears hard, but it was a battle she was close to loosing.

"You know, there is nothing I wouldn't give for one day- one day alone- to be your age, to be free. To love you freely, like a man loves a woman." He cupped her cheek with his feverish hand. "Be happy, my Temperance"  
She looked at him in those wonderful brown eyes and softy kissed his lips, as lightly as she could.

"Seeley..." It was no more than a whisper; Lord Booth smiled and closed his eyes. In the end, he had regained his identity as a man and shed the burden of his condition in life. He crossed over light as his heart was at that moment. There was no sin in his love. His last image was of Temperance's blue eyes.

"I'll see you soon" She told him, knowing he was already gone.

Angela found her in the morning, still holding on hands with him.

Temperance was happy, in her own way. She did not get married and she stayed in the manor, learning as much as she could. All she could. She was her happiest in the library, the smell of the leather bound books reminding her of Lord Booth's personal scent. To the heirs of the Lordship, she was strange request from a deceased relative, a strange shadow that walked the manor as if that wasn't really where she was walking. Someone who had not belonged to the world for the longest of time. They cherished her as you do an old family tradition or a dear ghost that walks your corridors.

She died a few years later of a fever none of Angela's herbs or the physician's potions could mend. She died with a smile in her eyes.


	10. Road to absolution

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the comments, the reviews, the PMs. THANK YOU! Now, this next segment of the story has been betaed by my very best friend, the sister of my soul, Irene. She was my Beta, super beta, beta extraordinaire. Deus te pague, amor! Also, you'll realize that I have taken yet one more fictional liberty. In the final chapter- as right below- you'll see a quotation from Dylan Thomas, a great Welsh bloke that I love with a passion. Given the fact that he was born in 1914, he couldn't possibly have written "And death shall have no dominion" in time for this historic setting. But somehow, only this made sense! Anyhow, enjoy and keep those comments comming!**

**Jane**

**American Civil War- 1870**

_"Though lovers be lost love is not_

_And death shall have no dominion."_

_Dylan Thomas_

Chapter 2.1- Road to absolution

The air was crisp and clean. There was a smell of autumn in the air- the trees were starting to loose their leaves to the soft wind that blew in the morning. Carpets of dried leaves softened the steps of the two figures walking down the road in South Carolina. A man in a tattered Union uniform and a boy in his early teens projected a soft shadow on the road behind them. The soldier walked with a cane in his right hand, the other propped on the boy's shoulder, lightly, despite the weariness and physical exhaustion that was all too visible in the man. The blindness made the painting-like beauty of the scenery wasted on the soldier. But the sounds of the birds saying goodbye to the summer, the smells of the ripe fruits and the corn rotting away in the fields were not. He had started noticing things he didn't use to. The songs seemed sweeter, the smells more pungent, the world suddenly alive and more intense than it used to be when he could see. Seeley Booth's heart ached for the carefree time before the war when he'd be awake to greet the morning, his heart restless for something not even he knew what was. He used to settle for the spectacle dawn put on, bringing his farm to life each day. Now all he had was the memory and four other senses, each and every one of them reminding him of how big, how glorious, how beautiful and how painful the world was. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania seemed to be a whole life time way. Too many dead and broken men away. He often wondered if there was any going back for him, if there would be absolution to what he'd done. He was a man of deep moral sense, and fighting seemed logical, reasonable, justifiable. At stake were higher values, the good of many out weighed the demise of some. Now, after the war only the pain and the loss of wasted lives and senseless carnage remained. War could be necessary, but that didn't make it any less painful , or the dead any less dead. Or, come to think of it, his guilt any smaller.

He'd been on the road for nearly six months, now, making penance for his sins. He knew there was little he could do in the way of giving back the lives he'd taken on the line of duty. But he could meet the families of the enemy, of the men he'd killed and give them what closure he could. For the last six months he had personally taken letters that confederate soldiers had entrusted to him in their final days when he'd been their jailer. He'd been received in some houses with harsh words or shotguns pointing at his head; in others he'd been received as a brother by people who knew that already too much, too many had been lost. Human nature was just like that. Sometimes people found the wisdom to forgive. Other times only the pain and the hate remained the last refuge for those who had lost hope, pride and their loved ones.

He carried in his breast pocket the last of the letters. He was heading to Greenville, South Carolina where he expected to deliver his final letter before his task was complete. Finality for him would come through someone else's heartache. He had also to consider the boy travelling with him. He needed to get him safely to the North. Each day they travelled together was a day spent in fear. If it was the last thing he'd do, he'd get the boy a home. Then he'd retire to his farm and try to make his peace with life and God.

They were travelling in companionable silence when the boy saw a mile marker with the name of the town in it. He tried to reading it. He'd been taught to read by his blind travelling companion, who had drawn the letters for him in the sand. Paper was a scarce commodity. It never ceased to amaze the boy that he, a half white for the Yankees, a half negro for the southerners, had managed to learn to read. From a blind man. A blind Yankee. Life was, he knew at only thirteen, full of little jokes.

When he got stuck, he spelled all the letters out loud. G-R-E-E-N-V-I-L-L-E. His companion sighed.

"That'd be the one. How far?"

"Five miles"

We better get going, then"

It was always that same feeling in the pit of his stomach. The dread of the unknown reaction to his uniformed presence at the door. He could not read faces nor gestures. He had to trust a boy who had seen precious little of life to know a person before any words were spoken. He felt truly helpless, truly in the dark, despite the little flashes of light that still percolated in his eyes.

When the boy stopped, he brushed his uniform off the road dust, straightened his cap and rubbed some colour into his face. The road to absolution was not an easy path. He cleared his throat.

"I'm ready".

The boy yelled from the fence.

"Yo of the house!" It was a juvenile voice, still innocent. "Anyone there?"

"How does it look like, son…the house?"  
"It looks like all the others, Sir… It needs a man to work it and a coat of paint… looks old, I guess…"

"Call again!" His voice broke just a notch, the same old anticipation of bringing pain into a house that needed no more of it.

"Yo! Anyone there?"

A little boy appeared from behind the house, running towards the front gate. He was breathless but had a wide smile in his face. The two top front teeth were missing.

"Hi" he said coming to an abrupt stop a few feet from the fence. He took in the unlikely duo, the man with a cane and a cloth covering his eyes, tall as the giant from the bean stalker his mother had told him about, the old uniform in need of mending and a boy with huge black eyes and dimples on a face that seemed to smile despite the seriousness impressed on it.

"Hello!" the man replied. "We are looking for Mrs Sullivan. Do you know where we can find her?" He tried to smile reassuringly, but was not exactly sure of the result.

"That's my mummy, Mrs Sullivan. I'm Mr Sullivan. Can I touch you hat?" The little one was cute as button and it reassured the boy somewhat. The playful tone had the same effect on the man.

"Sure" and the hat was transferred to the young hands of Mr Sullivan. "And is your mummy in, Mr Sullivan?"

"She sure is!" The little one replied with a little delighted giggle. "Mummy!" He yelled towards the house and turned his attention back towards the young boy accompanying the soldier. "What is that?" He asked pointing at an instrument hanging from a pouch in the boy's waist.

"It's a fife!" and he took out the instrument to demonstrate, playing a little tune. Young Mr Sullivan clapped his hands enthusiastically.

"Parker!" The word sounded alarmed in the rasp feminine voice. Not quite a shout, but urgent nonetheless. _Oh God, here we go!_ The soldier thought. He could hear a rustle of long skirts approaching. He'd always preferred to introduce himself to women as they were naturally less prone to violence than men. Especially here down South.

"They're looking for you, mummy. They're looking for Mrs Sullivan" And the boy stopped fidgeting with one single look at his mother.

"Are they now? Go inside, Parker" Her voice sounded tense as a violin string. As soon as Parker was out of earshot, the sound of the barrel of a pistol clicking into position ignited the afternoon with fear, sending birds flying in a storm of feathers.

"I'm Mrs Sullivan. Mrs Temperance Sullivan. And what do you want from here?" Corporal Booth did not need the boy's signal to tell him he had a gun held to his head.


	11. Cushions, carpets and books

Chapter 2.2- Carpets, cushions and books

He felt the boy move closer to him, perhaps searching for shelter. Maybe even offering comfort. The heat of the day was getting to him. He felt his head spin faster and faster, a buzz in his ears and his throat dry as the land he was standing on.

"Ma'am, I'm Corporal Seeley Booth… please… I…" He couldn't even hear his own words. "I have a letter…" he swallowed hard, trying to resurface from that depth he was sinking into. "Your husband……" He was unable to finish. He held out a hand with a tattered envelope in it , dirty from the journey and the soot of time and journey. The bees inside his head made an infernal dash against his skull and he stopped fighting the stomach churning sensation. He collapsed on the floor, his mouth falling open on the dust of the public way.

Mrs Sullivan was astonished. She looked at the gun, then at the man. She removed her finger from the trigger and released the barrel of the gun back to the safety position and put it back into her pocket, inside the folds of her midnight blue dress.

She crouched next to the soldier and put her fingers on his neck to check for pulse. She counted heart beats and found it weaker that she would have expected. He was running a fever and seemed far too week to be anywhere else but a hospital bed. She tried to pull him up but he was massive. She couldn't move him, so she sat down on the floor and put his head on her lap. Her son materialized next to her and handed her a metal cup filled with water. An expression of complicity passed between mother and child. The young fifer found himself wishing desperately for the same. He crouched next to the soldier, suddenly afraid to be left alone.

Mrs Sullivan took a white lace handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed it in the cool water from the cup and pressed it against Booth's dried lips, cleaning the dust that had stained them. She ran the wet cloth through his face, cooling him as much as she could. His face was marked with a wet trail on the dry dust that seemed to be part of his skin. Parker laughed pointing.

"Look, mummy, he needs a bath!" She looked at the man in her arms and at his companion. That was not all they needed. They looked half starved as well. And the man, well, he needed a doctor, a bed and time to mend.

The October sun still managed to bake. Stuffed in her dress, Temperance felt her own body temperature rise. She needed to move out of the sun or she would collapse as well. She searched the road up and down for help, but none was visible. Even if there'd been someone… who could she ask? She was in a confederate state, spoke with a Yankee accent and wanted to take in a Union soldier and his fifer. She half smiled at her predicament. With a sigh she got up.

"I need your help now, darling!" She asked the fifer. She took the man by the shoulders and lifted as much as she could. The boy took the feet. Together, they started the walk towards the house. Parker took the soldier's satchel across his shoulder. In his small frame, it was dragging on the floor. Temperance couldn't help but smile at her little Mr Sullivan with a Union hat propped on his blond curls and the satchel dragging on the floor. He gave her a smile and took the soldier's right arm in his.

"I'll help too, mummy!"

When they finally made it to the house, they were all sweating profusely, the colour in their cheeks dangerously red. They were unable to lift him to the sofa, so he was left on the carpeted floor of a room that seemed to the fifer to be covered in books in every available nook and crane. Parker propped a cushion under the soldier's head. Temperance opened the uniform to allow him to breath and ran a wet towel down his face and neck to cool him down. She left with her husband's last words to her burning in her pocket. Not yet, she thought. She wasn't ready for them yet.

The fallen soldier did not wake up until much later.

Booth woke up as if from the dead. Like his life had been on a hiatus of time, a suspension of existence. The last thing he could remember was that voice that was still echoing in his head. He tried to take in his surroundings, the soldier in him taking over despite the exhaustion, the hunger and the confusion. He was laying on a hard surface, maybe the floor. There was a cushion under his head. It was a tender gesture, not that of someone wanting to kill him. He held the cushion against him, a talisman of sorts. Somehow, it gave him the strangest feeling of being where he was supposed to be. He tried hard not to let his guard down. His uniform was open and he could feel refreshed and his breading came easier than it had in last few months. He felt around him for coordinates. Usually, the boy slept on the floor next to him and spoke as soon as he stirred, providing a sense of orientation he wouldn't have otherwise. His hands touched something solid and he held on trying to decipher the forms. It seemed like a small table. His hands searched further and touched a pile of books. He heard voices, children's voices- and one of them was his travel companion. There was a clonking of plates and cutlery and laughter. The sweet smells of food reached his nose. His stomach grumbled loudly. When was the last time he'd had a decent meal? Any meal, really. He tried to get up, to get some control over the situation but knocked down the whole pile of books. He tried to push away the panic. There were children laughing and food. How bad could it be? He heard steps and felt the floor vibrate under them. Feminine steps, soft but firm. He stirred. A woman spoke, a voice that seemed made to use in the bedroom.

"I still have a gun!"


	12. It's only loneliness

Chapter 2.3 – It's only loneliness

The memory of the scene at the gate hit him like a tone of bricks. He was lost for words, embarrassed and, especially helpless. One thing was to react to a man saying those same words. Another one would be reacting to a woman. Women were to be revered, his dad had always said, not to be touched in anger even if only with a flower. The steps echoing on the wooden floor told him she was walking in his direction. But instead if the cold metal of a gun against his head, he felt her hand, cool and gentle. It felt warm and soft and oddly familiar, like his mother's would feel, like a lover's hand. A long lost lover.

"We had to leave you on the floor. Sorry about that!" That was definitely not what he'd expected. "Your young fifer is having supper- he looks half starved… Now help me get you to bed" There was, Booth thought, something off about the whole situation. His companion was getting dinner in the kitchen, he was being tended by this woman that smelled like flowers and that sported a gun in her pocket. He tried to get up but his body was not fully responsive and he slammed against another pile of books. She came to his rescue, sliding her arm around his back to help him up. Caught unaware, Booth was startled.

"I'm just going to help you up." He sighed.

"Thank you, Mrs Sullivan."

"You're most welcome, but I have to say, you keep on knocking down my books with every turn, and I'm getting my gun again." But there was a hint of a smile in her voice. "Now, I've got a bedroom upstairs. Think you can reach it? One thing though: keep in mind that I have a gun and that I, not only know how to use it, I'm a very good shot!" No mistake now about that intimidating tone in her voice. He had come in peace, but didn't blame her for the cautious, suspicious attitude. Later that night when he was rolling in bed unable to sleep, Booth would reflect that her preoccupation with stating possession of the gun was merely protective instinct , but at that particular moment, her words had the desired effect on him.

She helped him undress. War, she told him, was no time for bashfulness. She cleaned him up as much as possible and fetched him supper. The fragrant stew made his mouth water. She put the plate in his hands and handed him a spoon. When he merely stood as if frozen in place, she quickly realized her blunder. She took back the plate, apologizing. She brought a lamp closer and when she did, his eyes perceived a change in the light. The darkness became less intense, less ominous and, certainly, less suffocating. He touched his eyes noticing the absence of the usual bandana. She noticed the movement.

"It was quite dirty, you know? Besides, I think it could be good for you to stop hiding behind that rag."

He was almost as startled by her direct approach to the subject of his blindness as by the movement of the bed when she sat on it to spoon feed him.

Temperance was feeling unsettled herself. And she was honest enough to admit that the almost naked soldier in her house was somewhat to blame for that. He was sitting in a bed, completely at her mercy, vulnerable but exuding masculinity. The helplessness of his situation- weak, blind and naked did nothing to hide that. In the animal kingdom, he would be a pack leader, just because of the energy that emanated from him. She could see burn marks on his chest and various other scars. The skin was that of a worker- tanned by the sun as if he worked outdoors. She was feeling flushed and warm and her attention was more that suitably caught by him. There hadn't been a grown man in her house since her husband had left her for a campaign with the confederate army. He'd left the house in great fanfare, happy as a little boy with a new toy, and telling her not to be silly and that it'd all be over in a month. Five years had passed and less than a dozen letters was all she had to show for it. _Loneliness, it's only loneliness_. After all, she was a woman that had been left alone for far too long. She felt a longing for the small gestures of intimacy, the shared warmth and laughter. The texture of warm skin beneath her fingers. Her fingers lingered a little longer than necessary on Booth's chest. She pulled her hand quickly, as if his skin had burned her. He was a soldier, and he had brought with him the words of lost hopes. She wasn't ready for them. For him.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" _Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth, Booth! _

"You mentioned my husband…" he could recognize a prompt for information when he heard one. This, however, was not the kind of information he liked to give. His expression closed.

"Your husband was Mr Timothy Sullivan was he not?" She sighed.

"Well, Corporal Booth, until proof to the contrary, my husband is still Mr Timothy Sullivan." But her voice was laced with sadness, not conviction. It tugged at Booth's heart. He wanted to soften the blow of the news he had to deliver. But, somehow, he did not know how to do it with her. It had been easier to comfort the mothers and fathers that had allowed him that.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I have bad news…" he felt her get up from the bed, heard books being moved from one place to the other, pages turning, volumes closing. He felt lonely and just a bit lost, just a little bit jealous. " I have a letter… he, your husband entrusted me with bringing it to you…"

"Yes, I'm aware of that. You gave it to me before you collapsed" she said with no emotion. She had suspected, of course, that Sully was dead. She had for quite some time now. But she was a great master in denial. You had to be, to be married to Sully and still maintain some shred of hope and laughter and self-esteem. Sully's sprawling handwriting on the envelope had killed that for her, the possibility of denial. Sully was dead. "What happened to your eyes?" He could also recognize avoidance strategies when he heard them.

"Not sure" He could help with avoidance. God only knew he could postpone what usually followed opening the letters. "There was an explosion and this flash of very bright light, then, I woke up and only darkness. There used to be flashing lights in the beginning, but then there was only this…sort of darkness." He wondered when the crying would start. The tears, the sobs and he would, for the last time, be offering comfort to the relatives. Instead, all he heard her controlled voice.

"I'm almost a doctor, you know. I'll have a look at your eyes in the morning. Now sleep. God knows you need it. And she left him alone in a room he knew to be full of her books and his demons.


	13. Angela

Chapter 2.4 - Angela

Temperance walked back into the kitchen in a haze. For five long years she had resented Tim Sullivan for leaving her for a war. A war between brothers. She resented him for leaving her with a small baby in her arms in a foreign land, cut off from any family tie. She resented him for not loving her enough to stay. For being silly enough to believe that any war could be over in a month. But that was Sully. Reckless, adventurous, never stopping to see the damage he left behind. It was that brilliant, reckless nature of his that had so drawn her to him. And that, like a moth to the flame, had eventually burned her. There was always something new, something fascinating to see and discover. New places, new loves, far more interesting than a woman heavy with his child and full of sorrow for the studies she had left behind eager for the time she could devote to learning whatever she could for whichever sources.

Before walking into the kitchen, she composed herself. No use for tears now. Whatever happened, Parker was the future. She stepped into a world of childish joy. The fifer was playing a marching tune and Parker, still wearing Booth's cap was marching around the dinner table, holding a wooden spoon as stand in for a riffle. She set aside any other thoughts and held him to her when he passed her by with a salute.

The fifer's lovely black eyes clouded over a bit but he held his tune. Temperance sat at the table and cut a thick slab of fruit cake she slid over to the fifer. The black eyes shone once more. She took in the round face, the dimples when the fifer smiled.

"I still don't know your name…" She asked.

"It's Charlie, mummy!" Parker piped in, approaching his own slice of cake. She ruffled his hair.

"And how old his Charlie?" Parker raised his shoulders in a _I don't know_ smile full of charm.

"I'm 13."  
"Well, then, Charlie, you're all grown up, then!" The boy nodded, his mouth full of cake. "Why were you travelling with Corporal Booth? Is he your father?" The boy shook his head in a negative. Temperance poured herself a cup of coffee. The boy swallowed the cake.

"He's taking me up North. He's gonna find me a daddy."

"Really?" She swallowed hard.

"Yes ma'am. He saved me, you know? From jail…"  
"Were you a bad boy?" Parker spoke with his mouth full of cake which only failed to earn him an earful from Temperance because she wanted to know why as much as her son. The boy shook his head in a negative.

"Na ha!" Them Yankees arrested everybody from my company- even me. We were all in jail for being confederate…"

"But how come you joined the army? I mean, you're just boy! How long did you…" Temperance had worked out a mad. Wasn't it enough that men- almost a whole generation had been killed, did they have to recruit children as well?" But Charlie interrupted:

"I told'em I was 15 and they said I couldn't fight and all, but that I could be a fifer. So they gave me this, told me to learn it to make meself useful and that was the way of it." Temperance shook her head, trying to make everything fall into place. It didn't. Nothing would ever make sense of this war.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. A well known sound to all in that house. She tried to send the boys to bed before opening, but Parker was already dashing to the door, opened it and jumped into the arms of Miss Montenegro.

Miss Montenegro walked in in a flurry of red silk, perfume and black curls, holding Parker tightly in her arms.

"And a very good evening to you too, Mr Sullivan!" She kissed the boy in each check and put him down. She walked to Temperance and pulled her into a bear hug.

"I missed you so much! How are things?" She asked pulling Temperance at arm's length to assess for herself. Though not entirely satisfied, Charlie had draw her attention, a little thing glued to the steps looking at her in fascination, the huge black eyes shining.

Angela smiled that luminous smile of hers and enquired directly:

"And you are?"

"Charlie, Ma'am!"  
Angela's eyes were warm and Charlie was immediately drawn to them, felt comfortable in them. Like those eyes were home. Angela looked at Temperance for an explanation. She got a look that silenced any probing. Much against their wishes, the boys were sent to bed with a good night kiss.

Angela took her best friend under the sun by the shoulders and motioned her to sit by the fire lit in the kitchen. She poured each of them a shot of whiskey and went straight to the point as it was her habit to do.

"So, why have you been crying?"

"I haven't been crying." But Temperance knew lying was a pointless exercise. The woman sitting across the table knew her better than anyone. Angela crossed her arms and leaned back on the chair, her bottom lip pouting in accusation.

"Sweetie!" Temperance brushed the loose strands of hair from her face and sighed.

"Sully died" Angela covered her open mouth with both hands. She breathed in and out, searching for something to say. Somehow, _I'm sorry for your loss_ did not quite apply. Not to her best friend and certainly not to Sully.

"How do you know?"  
"Corporal Booth"

"Corporal Booth?"

"He's upstairs…"

"Upstairs?"

"Angela, stop repeating what I'm saying!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but … YOU HAVE A MAN UPSTAIRS?" Angela could have been shouting. In fact, she was, but ever so softly. "DO YOU REALIZE YOU'RE IN SULLY WORLD?"

"ANGELA!"

"Ok, ok!" Angela breathed in and out until she felt calmer. She then returned to her line of questioning. "So you have a soldier sleeping under your roof who brought you the news that your no good husband is dead- not to speak ill of the dead- sorry- and you let him stay here! If I'm caught here by a soldier, I'll be a dead woman. And you'll be in a huge pile of trouble- now that Sully is not here to defend you!"  
"Angela, I never needed Sully to defend me. I HAVE a gun!" And her voice lowered significantly. "And he's a Yankee. He's not going to want to arrest you!"

"SWEETIE! Again, I ask: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? A Yankee in your house? What do you think these people will do to you when they find out? He needs to go! Now!" Angela got up from her chair. "Where is he?" Temperance ran to the stairs trying to stop Angela.

"Upstairs, but, Angela, He's hurt, he's nearly blind and he can't go anywhere soon." But Angela was a force to be reckoned with. She hurricaned her way past Temperance and found Corporal Booth sitting in bed in full alert. She could see him in the moonlight seeping in though the window. She gasped at his shirtless form- all man, and, not finding anything to say, closed the door and leaned against it to catch her breath. Temperance was right behind her.

"Wow! Really, sweetie, if you have to help someone, might as well do it in style!" and, because the urge was something she couldn't resist, Angela opened the door and looked at Booth once more. She mouthed a "Wow" and closed the door again. She took Temperance by the arm heading back towards the kitchen.

"So, was he naked like this when you took him in?"


	14. Roxie

Chapter 2.5- Roxie

Sitting in his bed, heart beating wildly in his ears, Booth considered, reviewed and analyzed his life since reaching the gate of the house he was currently in. He'd been held at gun point by a woman- a woman sounding remarkably Yankee- whom he'd just turned into a widow- who smelled like flowers and had the lightest fingers undressing him. And yes, there was that as well. A woman had undressed him. It was a good thing he had no intention of writing home to his mum about that. He'd had to fight his own body in that instance. He had never- ever- reacted to a woman like that. And he had known some. A few. Well, _few_ wasn't accurate. Quite a lot of women. But… None like Temperance Sullivan. And then, that other woman waltzes into the room where he's probably looking like a damsel in distress, holding on to the covers to hide himself from view. What a ninny! She had left behind a delightful scent designed to attract men and to make them bow to her will. But it wasn't as lovely as that natural scent that parted from the widow's skin every time she moved. He blamed the war. He had not seen a woman since God knew when- about a year ago by his calculation and even them, they were the type that you pay for.

He spent a sleepless night, female voices coming from downstairs until the birds announced the morning and his eyes recognized a different, lighter shade of darkness in the room. He got up and felt around the room for his clothes. He found none. He wanted nothing more than to get into his uniform and get back on the road and on his way home. The two women unnerved him, distracted him and Temperance, in particular, had caused some quite uncatholic thoughts. As it was, he wrapped himself up in a blanket and tried to retrace the steps he'd taken the previous night.

The smell of coffee guided him to the kitchen. He heard women's voices and hoped to God none of the boys were there to see him coming in with less than his dignity. It was not his intention to walk in announced, but he was barefoot as his boots were also missing in action. But when he heard the conversation between the two women, he was rooted to the floor.

"Sweetie, please consider what you're doing!"

"There's nothing to consider, Angela."

"You know I have contacts, I can get him up North. And the boy too- who is, by the way, a very strange boy."  
"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's the prettiest boy I've ever seen, that's all." There was a silence. Booth was surprised with that particular comment.. "Don't ask, I don't know yet, But I'm telling you, Temperance, I'll find out!"  
"Leave the boy alone, Angela!"

"And, as for that good looking soldier, I understand your predicament, but I can't stop worrying. The locals will take it personal. They'll think that you're betraying one of them with the enemy. Look, it's bad enough that I come here every time. If anyone finds out I'm Roxie… I'm not sure any of us would walk out of this alive! They'll think you helped me…"

"Which I did" Temperance interrupted, defiance in her voice.

"Exactly, sweetie! Whatever we did, however we helped win this war, you can be sure they won't send a single rifle to help us. Peace is a delicate balance. They will not mess it up for the two of us!"

Booth's head was spinning all the information, trying to get it to make sense. _Roxie… Roxie… That name… _And then, it clicked. It clicked into place with a bang! _Roxie, the informant. Roxie that had provided details on Lee's movements in Charleston. That Roxie._ He'd always assumed – stupidly, he now saw it, that Roxie was a code name- for an organization, a group of men or a network of people. Instead, he was in the presence of a legend, known to few outside the restricted circle of the high ranking in the Union Army.

Awestruck, he moved into the kitchen, forgetting that he did not know the space around him. His third or fourth step landed his toe bull's eye on the table's wooden leg. Pain shot up his foot and leg and, as he tried to hold on to his throbbing foot, the blanket he was wrapped in slid to the floor, revealing to both women his naked form.

The women jumped in their seat, coffee was spilled and gasps heard. Angela had her mouth covered and a hand over her stomach in a bid to control her erratic breathing. Temperance, however, was standing up, absolutely immobile, staring at Booth's naked body hopping on one foot trying to sooth his hurt foot. Her face played freely with the reflection of horror at the conversation she was positive he'd just heard, admiration at the pure perfection of his body and the desire that suddenly hit her like a punch. None of it escaped Angela, but she made no comment.

Temperance got the use of her senses back and ran to pick up the fallen blanket which was done with her face precious few inches from his naked butt and legs. She took a deep breath and wrapped the blanket around him, the intimacy of the embrace , of her arms around him making her blush into a tone of deep purple. Angela took in the blue eyes suddenly coming alive, suddenly bluer and clouded with wanting.

Booth himself was fighting to bring himself under control. The pain was overshadowed by her touch, by her scent. His body reacted violently to her and his biggest worry was now to hide it.

He was saved from the embarrassment of a lifetime by a piercing scream coming from upstairs and tiny footsteps thundering down the steps.

"Mummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Charlie is dying, Charlie is dying!"


	15. And yet one more woman

Chapter 2.6- And yet one more woman

Angela and Temperance shot up the stairs. Parker was following closely behind and Booth was alone once more- this time in the kitchen. It seemed to him that he kept on being run over by events and people. Like he was always trying to catch up. He felt defrauded. He was a man and was supposed to be in charge. Not bowled over by events and nice smelling, sweet talking, strong women. And then he felt foolish and selfish. His travel companion, his guide and only company for the last six months was dying and he was standing there feeling sorry for himself.. So he wrapped himself in the blanket as much as he could and tried to find his way back upstairs which, after turning on his own tail like a dog, was easier said than done.

Eventually, he found the way and moved to try to check on the boy. When he got upstairs, Parker was sitting on the floor outside an ominously closed door to the bedroom he had shared with Charlie. Booth could hear him sniffling loudly, so, holding on to the precious blanket, sat on the floor and tried to console the little one. From inside, he could hear both women coaxing Charlie to let them have a look at whatever it was that had caused Parker's despair. Booth whispered in his ear _What happened?_ Parker sniffled a few more times.

"Charlie's bleeding… there's blood in his bed and he has a tummy ache… but he won't let me see it…" He sighed deeply. "I'm worried! I like Charlie." _God, he sounds so grown up! _

"I like him too, buddy. I'm sure your mummy will help and Charlie will be OK!" From the other side of the door, Booth heard Angela giggle and say in a very audible snort:  
"I told you this was the strangest boy I'd ever seen!" Parker took Booth's hand.

"They're laughing!"

"That they are," Booth agreed, though it did nothing to ease his confusion. "I bet it's not that bad."

And then the door opened, withdrawing the support to both man and boy who fell backwards, straight into three pairs of feet and three corresponding pairs of eyes looking down on them.

Luckily for Booth's already wounded pride, he couldn't see the smiles on those three pairs of eyes.

"Well, it looks like a good start for you- two men at your feet and you've only just stated…" Angela picked Parker up leaving Booth to be helped by Temperance, which reminded them both that, apart from the blanket- that seemed to shrink by the minute- he was absolutely, stark naked.

"You better get Corporal Boot here some clothes, sweetie. I'm not so worried about me" and she gave Booth an appreciative smile that managed to irk Temperance "but Charlie here… well, you know where I'm going with this…" and with that she went down stairs leaving the pair slowly drowning in an embarrassed silence.

Alone with Booth, Temperance didn't quite know what to do, her mind paralyzed in a haze that had everything to do with the body heat she was only too aware of coming from Booth's side. She tried to shake her head to align her thoughts and found something she could hold on to- the need for clothes. She took him into her bedroom which she immediately recognized as a mistake on every single level- and hunted in the wardrobe for clothes that he could wear.

Downstairs, Angela was trying to decide whether or not to push Temperance towards the Yankee. She still had not decided when her friend made her way down with a fully clothed Booth hanging to her arm.

To break the spell he was under, Booth called out to Charlie, a slight panic in his voice. He did not trust himself to be next to that woman any longer without trying to appease that hunger she awoke in him with a single touch.

"I'm here!" Parker was right, Booth thought, it wasn't that bad. Someone dying wouldn't answer back from the kitchen with a smiley voice.

"Charlie, are you ok, buddy?" Silence.

"Yes, she is" Angela piped in when Charlie failed to answer.

"Thank God for that! I thought… I thought… Wait" Angela could hear the wheels turning in his head. He cleared is throat. "She? What do you mean SHE?"  
"She as in girl, woman, female…" Silence. Booth was stupefied, unable to articulate. "She as in… What's you name, Charlie?"

"Camille"

"She as in Camille, Corporal Booth" Angela was having so much fun she didn't want to stop poking at the Corporal. "Camille just got her monthly… she just became a woman…"

"Stop! This is not appropriate conversation to have with a man in the room!" It was actually sweet and charming the way he blushed, Angela thought.

"…and I see you're fully clothed now!" Angela finally took pity on him but not so much as to top one final sting. "Too bad, though. I was starting to enjoy the sight, you know!" And with that she walked out of the kitchen, dragging Camille to find her suitable woman's clothes. She could have sworn Booth had actually sobbed.


	16. Death comes to call

Chapter 2.7- Death comes to call

Booth was sitting on the front porch. The sun was warming his skin and he could actually see, without the bandanna that usually covered his eyes, splashes of colour and light. Struggling to get a handle on the events he mentally summarized the last days in this very peculiar house. There was the cute little boy that hadn't even met his daddy; he himself had been travelling with a boy that was, in fact, a girl- and, therefore, should never have slept under the same roof as him, let alone for so long; the most charming loud-mouth he'd ever met who just happened to be a _spy_ of all things and then, the cherry on the cake, the most distracting woman- _now a widow-_ that had helped the loud-mouth in her _little adventures_. Together they'd been risking skin and neck to help the Union Cause. It was a far cry from all the proper ladies knitting and baking for both sides of the war. They had no qualms about using a gun like other women would not hesitate in holding needles or spoons. From what he'd heard, he had no reason to fear for his neck, but it made him slightly nervous, none the less, that they were not the swooning type. They threw him off balance. He was not quite sure what to feel about this. He'd been raised a good catholic boy. Women were supposed to be proper and chaste, stay at home and, basically, do what his mother had done her whole life, but he be damned if he didn't feel attracted to that power, that fire that came from them. Especially Temperance, with her quite manner, that little silent way to analyse, that voice that managed to, at the same time, sooth and excite. It was, he thought, the kind of voice that you want to hear when you wake up in the middle of the night when you have a nightmare. Yes, well, he felt drawn to her- an invisible pull he couldn't explain even to himself. And on top of that, he kept acting like an idiot…a depraved idiot at that, with his body reacting in the most violent manner to her mere voice. A voice that was a familiar song in his ears.

So when she at next to him, his heart jolted and he had to fight not to scream like a girl.

"Are you ok?" She'd obviously detected his strange reaction. She turned to him and put a hand to his forehead to gauge any fever. And felt like she wanted to leave it there forever. She wanted to look into his face, his eyes and enjoy that homey feeling, the comfort of his presence. It embarrassed her, that delayed reaction, the slight trembling of her hands.

"You don't have a fever…" She cleared her throat. "Can you see anything without that rag covering your eyes?" It was a diversion, she knew. But she had to pull herself together.

"Not really sure… I can distinguish light and dark… some shadows and colours but not really see…"

"Can I have a look?" And with that, she was already up and leaning over him, peering into his eyes, probing, touching his face. He was only too aware of her breath on his face, of that flowery scent. His breath caught and he felt like he was sinking into something liquid, soft, welcoming. She removed a lens from a velvet box in her pocket and looked closer.

"You know, I don't think there's permanent damage. I don't see any scaring…"

"Are you a doctor?" Now he was even more surprised.

"Well, I was on my way to becoming one."  
"What happened?"

"I got married"

"You must have loved him very dearly…"

"I guess I did…" He wished he could see the expression in her eyes. She sounded so hesitant… "Isn't that what women are supposed to do?" She continued. "Get married, have babies… knit…" and she almost sneered at the thought.

"I think some women are destined for things greater than knitting." She was staring at his eyes so intently she got lost in those dark pools of brown warmness. Her hand holding on to his chin got distracted and the thumb was rubbing the lightly bearded chin.

"Maybe you need reminding that you're a married woman, Mrs Sullivan!" The male voice chilled Temperance to the bone. Her hand held on to Booth's shoulder for support. "And maybe" she heard the familiar sound of a pistol cocking. "the Yankee that's putting you on the road to perdition should be reminded that we do not take kindly to enemies soiling what belongs to ours!" There was a cold hate in that voice. Booth heard Temperance gasping for air and saw her shadow moving into the light. He strained not to lose her silhouette as he was not sure he'd be able to find her again through the fog that was his vision and what appeared to be the sea of faces at the gate. For all he knew, the gun could be pointed at him. Far worse, it could be pointed at her.

"I don't belong to anyone. I'm no one's possession!" He could hear Temperance's voice clearly agitated. Footsteps moved from inside the house. Angela moved quickly thumping on the porch wooden floor, the shadow of a dark green dress passing him by, the footsteps fading when she jumped into the earthen path.

"Mr Preston, please put your gun down. This is us, remember? We're just women…" And she gripped Temperance's arm forcefully, effectively silencing the torrent of protests she knew would ensue.

"Oh, that's rich!" Booth heard a shrill woman's voice. "Only women? Do you think we're stupid?"

"Women are the instrument of the devil himself!" Yet another voice, yet another movement of the wall of faces he couldn't quite make out.

"Why, I even believe you may be helping them underground railway people. You're well capable of it, you lot!" And yet one more voice.

"Now, Tess, you don't really believe that!"

Booth felt a presence by his side and a small hand touched his. Then he felt something metallic touching his hand. He realized Parker had just given him Temperance's pistol.

"Don't you talk to me, you whore. I know you've been intimate with too many…" Booth pushed Parker towards the house.

"Don't talk to her like that!" Temperance was now near hysterics. He could hear it in her voice. "Go away. I'm not one of yours, and you'll address Miss Montenegro with respect". Angela pulled Temperance back to her. They both saw it, the moment someone took a gun and pointed it at them. It reflected the sun in a shaft of intense light. Booth saw it too at the same moment he felt Camille by his side.

"How many?" He grabbed her hand. "How many?"

"Too many. But the gun is at your 11 o'clock. Mrs Sullivan and Angela at your 2 o'clock. We're too far." Booth stepped forward. The screaming was escalating,

"Go inside, kid" and he moved forward. Camille held fast to his belt.

"Root" Booth fell into the rhythm they'd developed during their six month walk. A tug on his belt and he faced Preston and his gun. "It's pointing at Mrs Sullivan" came the whisper.

"Put it down!" He shouted.

"He's bluffing. He's blind!" He heard the shot piercing the afternoon, Camille's gasp, and a female form dropping to the floor. And as in a cause effect movement, his finger pressed the trigger and the man with the gun fell to the floor. There was screaming from the mass outside the gate and he saw it then, the movement at the corner of his eye, nothing more than a disturbance in the wall of shadows in front of him. He did not need Camille's sign to know where to aim and his finger did not need more than half a heart beat to shoot at the movement. There was only stunned silence where there'd been chaos before.


	17. Recognizing a soul

Chapter 2.8- Recognizing a soul

Three days later, Booth sat in the dark, cradling an exhausted from crying Parker. He'd been reliving the moment of the shooting again and again. He'd sworn never to hold a gun again. When he received his release papers at the end of the war, he'd wanted nothing but to never hold a gun again. Never to see anyone dying again. Well, he thought bitterly, he'd achieved that much by going blind. He hadn't seen her dying but memories of all those that he'd seen falling with the mask of death on their faces came rushing back the second he fired the second shot, draining the blood from his face, his eyes clouding up again as if they too wanted to forget all the horror he'd lived through. The moments after were no more than a collection of fragmented memories: the metallic smell of the blood that soaked the front of her dress; Camille's small figure standing up to the crowd, hands in her waist, shouting that they all go home, a picture of the strong, determined woman, he knew, she'd one day become. But most of all, he remembered feeling his heart pounding in his closed fists, where the gun was still clutched; the sound of his own breathing that seemed to be the only sound in the world. _How do you suddenly realize that you desperately need someone in your life? That there is someone in the world that is the missing piece to the puzzle that you are? Two shots…, it took me two shots, two half heart beats._ He remembered lunging forward, running in the dark towards her. The closer he got to the heap on the floor, the less he could see, the less clear the image was. He fell to his knees and called her name as he'd heard it in his dream, _Temperance,_ the final syllable spreading through the afternoon.

He returned to the present when Temperance held his hand in her small one. Three days later, he still needed her touch to reassure himself that she was ok. She sat next to him, holding his hand. Her eyes were swollen from the tears he knew she'd been crying every night. He wanted to cradle her in his arms like he did her son. But it was not appropriate.

Dr Hodgins was lost in a world of pain of his own. He'd been summoned three days before. Temperance had sent for him. She been frantic, talking to Angela, telling her that she'd be ok, to be strong, that Jack was coming and that he needed her. Together, Jack Hodgins and Temperance fought to save her. Together, they held her hand as she slipped away from their grasp. Jack wasn't quite sure how he'd survive from that day on. He had always looked at the glimmer in the black eyes for everything: for joy when he was angry at the world, for company when he felt the weight of loneliness, for hope when he felt the world was too ugly. Camille sat next to him, still in the yellow dress stained with Angela's blood she'd been wearing for the last three days. She refused to take it out. Angela had given it to her. She held Jack's hand and stood absolutely still for the time it took him to find the strength to let his beloved be buried.

Temperance had sought refuge in her study. She'd offered Jack comfort, she'd cradled her son in his nightmares reliving the scene he'd witnessed from the window. She'd worried about Camille who refused to take out the blood stained yellow dress, who did not cry. She needed comfort herself, but had no one to ask it from. There was always solace to be had from the proximity of her books. So many of those volumes had been given to her by Angela. She held on to Utopia, a rare edition Angela had tracked for her in a used books shop in one of her trips to London.

Booth knocked on the door and let himself in. He could not distinguish the pallor in her face, but he could hear her voice shaky with pent up tears, nerves, rage and grief. He took her hand and kissed her fingers. He'd hoped for a courtesy kiss, something that would convey nothing more than support and admiration. Instead, he was shaken to the core by an indefinable emotion. And a twinge of panic. Yes, that he recognized fairly quickly.

"You should have a drink. Something to steady your nerves" He stared at the crackling fire. He felt comfort in the light emanated, in the warmth of that room. Temperance served two glasses of bourbon, handed Booth one and sat heavily on a chaise longue. She wasn't quite certain what she should do at that particular moment. It was awkward. It felt awkward. She wanted nothing more than to sit in silence and solitude. And grieve.

"Tell me something good about Miss Montenegro"

"Well… she was brave and generous… and she always made me laugh"

"Tell me about one of the times she made you laugh" Temperance thought about it. It wasn't so much the things Angela did or said, but the way she said or did them, her infectious joy. It was impossible to be sad next to her.

"On my wedding day… Sully was so happy and bubbly he couldn't even see that I was… devastated… I wasn't even sure I wanted to marry him. I had to give up medical school, and I knew he wanted to come down here to live close to his parents… It wasn't really important, because my parents were dead, but… I didn't know anyone here and I was terrified. So, there I was, in a wedding gown, in the rectory of the church and Angela comes up in a man's dress coat, a top hat and hands me a huge bouquet of daisies she'd stolen from the church yard. She pulled out a cigar and one of those small metal bottles with bourbon and pours two glasses… she said _liquid courage, sweetie!_ And we had the whole bottle. We toasted to everyone we knew and smoked the cigar. We coughed like mad the whole time… You know, she was the one who took me down the aisle? I didn't have anyone, so she did it. In that ridiculous top hat and dress coat. And I know that she told Sully that if he ever hurt me, she'd make his ah… _family jewels_ shrivel up and fall…" Booth smiled. He raised his glass.

"Than, that's how you should remember her. To Angela Montenegro!"

"To Angela" She downed the bourbon in one swift movement. "You know, daisies are still my favourite flowers. And thank you for saving my life." She stole a glance at him. She knew he had nightmares about the war, nightmares when he was still in one battle field or other, killing and watching people dying. She knew it couldn't have been easy what he did. His expression closed. She felt a pull towards him, though why she couldn't fathom as she'd known him for a short fortnight. But sitting there next to him, she wanted to be small and fragile. She was tired of being strong for everyone all the time, for herself. She was tired of living alone. Suddenly, he moved to sit by her side.

"You know, it's ok to need support from someone. To need comfort." She sighed, startled by what he'd just said, her heart suddenly aching almost physically to reach out to him. She made one last attempt at being strong, though she knew, even as she spoke, it was useless.

"You don't understand… I have to be strong. I'm the only one now. I can't get used to depending on anyone. Look what happened with Sully and now Angela…" The knot in her throat tightened impossibly and she couldn't finish her sentence.

"Mrs Sullivan… Temperance…" And his hand searched for her face. "I won't tell anyone… Today, just for today, you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders…" He wished fiercely that he could share that load with her. He wished he could take her in his arms and cuddle her and rock her until she felt better. And then he felt her breath on his face, closer and closer, her hand on his over her face and, it seemed to him, time stood still as if, it too, had been waiting for that particular event.

Her lips touched his, tentatively, light as rain. His heart skipped a beat and a million little stars exploded inside his eyes. He tossed propriety to the wind and dived into the kiss, surrendering heart and soul. She tasted like all of his favourite things and smelled like dawn and morning dew in early flowers. He took and took and until his head was spinning violently and he had to come up for air.

_How do you recognize a soul mate? How do you know? How do you allow yourself to believe something that you cannot prove empirically? How do you fight the terrifying thought that you found the one thing, the one part of you that's always been missing? How do you deal with the certainty that you're so inextricably connected to someone and that if you were to lose them, your life would no longer make sense?_

_Today, I kissed my missing part. And it was like I had a soul for the first time. How am I to go on knowing what can be taken away from me?_

Temperance felt her body yielding to his touch. She moved into him, shoulders first, then the rest of her, until each little bit of her was part of him now, until the heat from his body was generated in hers. His hands found her waist, travelled to the small of her back and pulled her even closer. Again he took her lips, again he delved into the depths of that mouth. He was gentle, as if he had all the time in the world. For her, he had all the time I the world.

He tasted like all the forbidden fruits she'd never been allowed to touch. Had never allowed herself to touch. There was warmth in him and it slowly pushed away all the cold she didn't even know was in her heart.

He pulled her to the floor and his patient fingers steadily undid all the prudish buttons of her mourning dress. He unwrapped her like he would a Christmas present, freeing her from her silk prison. The dress slid down to a heap on the floor. Temperance was lost in his eyes so deep and dark they were windows to the night sky, so full of mysteries. Her fingers toyed with the shirt that had never looked so good on Sully. She felt the need to remove it and once she did, his body shone in the warm fire light, a maze of scars. She kissed each one of them as she would have each of the roads he'd walked to get to her. She saw the reaction of his body to her and gasped in surprise. If he thought he'd scared her, she quickly undid the impression when she whispered in wonder _I did this… so beautiful!_ Her hand just had to touch him, to verify for herself, to make him her playground.

He did not need his eyes to know what she was referring to. He held her to him rolling them both on the floor, offering her a full imprint of his desire. His hand travelled down her torso, to her legs in a voyage of recognisance and repossession. He marked her as his with his scent, with his heat, with the touch of his callused hands. He looked deep in her eyes when he took her and found her looking back. She had the darkest blue eyes. He thanked God for allowing him to see them.

They moved together, finding each other's rhythm with ease, as though love was something they'd always been making together. _Temperance_ he whispered like a prayer. _Temperance_ he whispered trying to hold on to the moment. _Temperance_ he whispered like a charm or a prayer, a spell, a mantra. And he surrendered to her, happy to have survived all that he had just to have this one moment with her. He saw a clear blue tear escaping the corner of her eye. He held on to her.

"I know… I know…" And again and again he kissed her face, her mouth, her eyes. "I've been waiting for you for so long!". She nodded. She too had been waiting… patiently.

"You have the bluest eyes I've ever seen." He murmured in her ear, snuggling in the warmth of her neck, wanting to stay like that forever, warm and whole in her arms.

Later, as the dawn came and Booth slept next to her, she opened the letter. And she read Sully's last words to her.

"_Darling Temperance_

_My very darling Temperance, what a muddle I made of things, of our love, didn't I? Can you ever forgive me for the pain I caused? Even as I was leaving I could feel our love slipping through our fingers, and I didn't care, not then. You see, my darling Temperance, you were solid, too solid for me to carry around. I didn't know then that you were home, that you and our boy were home, shelter from madness and pain. I know it now. But it is unlikely I'll make it out of the madness of war alive. And even if I did, I'm aware it wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be fair of me to ask of you yet another chance, forgiveness for my sins yet another time. And that I'd probably mess that up as well. You need someone who can love you, and yes, our son too, far better than I can ever love. I'll always remember you, shy little Temperance, walking down the aisle with Angela and the joke of it. Mostly, that only then did I realize you were too much for me. But marriage isn't made solely of laughter. It can't. I learned now it's a promise. And I'm no good at promises, you know? I can't absolutely be trusted. Be happy, dearest Temperance, will you? This is my goodbye. I'm a coward for not telling you that in person. Even if it was possible, which it isn't, in this Yankee prison, I wouldn't be able to face you, you know? This is Goodbye. Can you, once in a while think of me, happy thoughts?"_

It was signed with his bold letters, without hesitation or tremor. Caught between pain and laughter she hugged Booth. A promise, she thought, yes, it was exactly that. And that Sully's last words were a letter abandoning her was a joke that wouldn't be wasted on Angela and herself. She closed her eyes hard. She wouldn't cry. Not now, not anymore. Sully was right at least about this one thing: laughter was better for memories than tears. Far, far better.


	18. Though lovers be lost

Chapter 2.9- Though lovers be lost

_Have you ever looked at two people together and known in your heart that they were one soul, one being? Since Temperance Brennan Sullivan opened her door to us that October afternoon, I've know that Corporal Booth was her match in every way, that they completed each other. Throughout the years, they found strength in each other. My memories of this place are pretty much all tied to those two sitting on the porch holding hands or painting a fence white…or something equally mundane. There are memories not quite so peaceful. Life does not turn out like it does in the novels I'm so fond of reading with their mawkish wish fulfillment. Not everything turns out all right for good people._

_When Angela died, I thought I'd never have a mother. I did not want to keep on looking for one. Since she gave me that silly yellow dress I'd secretly harbored the hope she might want to keep me. She died, so that was not meant to be. Like I said, good people do not automatically get their happy ending. But she made sure her Jack, Dr Hodgins, took me in. I did not get a mother, but I did get a father. We saw each other through loosing Angela Montenegro. And whenever I needed a mother, Temperance was always there. I used to sneak into her studio to read all that I could. To become what I set out to become- a teacher for those no one would have taught._

_I can't really think back to a time when we were all carefree. We should have known, in the weeks after Angela's death that peace would not last. Not here, anyway. The letters arrived slowly but steadily. Letters dripping with venom and malevolence. Temperance hid them at first, hoping they'd stop when they did not get a reaction, though I know for a fact that she never left the house without her trusted pistol. But the day Parker and I got home bloodied and beaten, each of us with a letter in our hands, she had to acknowledge they were not going to just go away. _

_I feared for the end of our idyllic existence. Jack thought it was better just to pick up our things and go up North. To New York or Washington DC would be a good thing, he thought. He did not want to loose anyone else. But Temperance and Seeley looked into each other's eyes and I knew they'd be staying. Through thick and thin. The world, Seeley said, was what you made of it. If you wanted a better one, you would have to stand your ground and fight. Fight for what you believe in, fight for what is right. It was atonement for what he felt were his sins, growing into her own self for her. So they opened the first integrated school in South Carolina and, as far as I know, in the whole dead Confederacy. Jack and I stayed. What else were we to do? They were the centre we gravitated around._

_Every once in a while, the letters returned and we went through the motions: the threats, the not going out alone, the sticking together. We made it through for a while._

_Temperance died Christmas day 1888 on a porch swing Parker had made her himself. Someone threw a rock at her head __when she was coming back from one of her expeditions to town. It was a beautifully sunny day and Seeley was holding her hand. He whispered in her ear _"Next time I will protect you better!"._ I do believe he was in a hurry to get back to her, because he left us earlier that summer. I don't think there was much crying to be done. They both felt they'd lived their lives well and, if anything, Temperance had once told me, she only ever wished for more time with him. Time in peace with her man. So, if you ask me, they'll find a way to be together again. Their headstone reads the following chosen by her:_

_"Though lovers be lost love shall not;_

_And death shall have no dominion."_


	19. Prologue

Prologue

London, August 1964

_I met Temperance Brennan when we got stationed together in the London Royal Hospital in 1941. I had completed my training with the Red Cross but I was no nurse. I was- and like to think I still am- an artist. But our Lord Chamberlain made such a compelling case of uniting to defeat the enemy that, before I could think the consequences through, I had joined the Red Cross. I thought I wouldn't last long. My romantic notions of meeting my soul mate were soon dashed when I realized that, as a RN, I was not allowed any type of personal relationship with the patients or military personnel. We were to be addressed by our surnames rather than our first names and even our underwear was strictly regimented by the Commander and enforced by the Quartermaster. Any ideas of heroic actions were soon dashed. I was not going to single handedly win the war with my inspirational nursing. I was no Florence Nightingale. But then Dr Brennan arrived. No one knew what to make of her. She was a medical officer which carried a very high rank- despite the fact that she was a woman. And, as such, she was also in charge of very great number of men, received salutes from all of them and by association, the irritation of the military chiefs –male chiefs, obviously. I never saw her perturbed by that. In fact, she seemed oblivious to all of that. Her only worry was to do whatever she could to save lives. _

_Obviously, I was immediately drawn to her. She was the odd one out, different from all the girls I worked with, with what seemed to be an amazing self assuredness but also incredibly vulnerable. If you were paying attention, that is. And I was. Plus, she had to use the nurses facilities as the military, though they had accepted women in their ranks, had never bothered with getting their basic needs tended to. We became friends in spite of her. _

_She was such a remarkable woman in so many little ways I think I should tell you her story. Some of what I'm about to tell you I saw with my own eyes, some she told me herself. Some may have been embellished in my mind by the sands of time, by the loneliness of a widow and most especially, by the proximity of my own death. But it remains, at heart, the true story of Temperance Brennan and her American Lieutenant Seeley Booth. Stick around and you may even learn a few things about love and friendship._

_Angela Hodgins_


	20. Air Raid

**Author's note: I am so so sorry for the mishap with this chapter! Thank you all to those who sent private messages telling about this. You're such stars! So, anyway, here is, without further ado, chapter 1 of the third historic segment. And because you were so nice about it, I am also publish chapter 2. Now be nice and review!**

**Jane  
**

Chapter 3.1- Air Raid

"I'll follow you and make a heaven out of hell"

William Shakespeare

London, July 1944

The air raid siren was wailing in warning. The sound, much like that of a wounded animal, was terrifying in itself without adding to it the roaring of the approaching Luftwafe planes. London was pitch black. If you had the misfortune of being caught outside during an air raid, you had little to help you navigate your way to safety.

Dr. Temperance Brennan was one such unfortunate woman. She was following as fast as she could along the wall she hoped would be St Peter's church. She was hoping to find shelter inside the tube station at St Paul's. She knew the attack was imminent and it would last until the usual dozen or so planes were empty of their lethal cargo. Moonlit nights were always favoured by the Nazis, as the reflection of the moon on the Thames guided them like a beacon to the heart of London. Suddenly, she was out of time. The anti aerial guns were shooting their enormous projectiles into the air, the Luftwafe was dropping their bombs and she was desperately trying to make a run for it. Suddenly, the wall that she had been holding on to collapsed in a pit of rubble, she was knocked back several feet and a big, warm and firm hand pulled her from under the pile of rubble to the relative safety of the pair of arms attached to them. She felt a ragged sort of breathing in her neck. She tried to get a better look at her rescuer only to be shushed.

"Stay still! This is not over yet, lady", a deep voice with an American accent said in her ear.

"You're lucky, you are, Missus." a man's voice from some distance shouted over the deafening noise. "Ye would be dust by now if this young fella 'ere 'adn't pulled ye back!"

"Smashing!" she shouted back, the sarcasm lost in the overwhelming noise of the attack.

"You know, you could just be grateful." She could have sworn he had snarled the comment. "That's the way we Americans do it, anyway."

"And I suppose you're here to teach me manners..."

"Got better things to do, your highness." Temperance thought that he was probably right anyway. He had just saved her. A thank you was in order, but the fact that she had just been rescued- and she NEVER needed any rescuing- just made her snappish and disagreeable.

"Look", she began but the whistle of a falling bomb interrupted her. She felt the explosion in every single one of her bones. She also felt a warm body covering hers in a protective cocoon. The sound that followed seemed to be a sound bite from hell itself: an impossibly loud vibration of tumbling buildings, departing souls and astonished survival. And it seemed to go on for an eternity. The arms around her held her even tighter and she felt oddly comforted. The flash of temper dissolved into the sheer uncontrollable terror of the world exploding around her and the warmth of that embrace. When it finally stopped, Temperance realized that the sirens were silent, the anti aerial batteries were quiet and, rather worryingly, the body over hers was still immobile. She took stock of herself. She seemed to be ok apart from the wet and sticky something she felt trickling down her forehead. She had no idea if it was hers or if it belonged to the body shielding her.

_Temperance, pull yourself together_, her medical training kicked into gear. She put her hands around the man's neck and head and gently motioned him to get off her, rolling him onto his side. She took a lighter from her pocket and lighted it with some effort due to her uncooperatively shaking hands. She ran the meager pool of light through the man's face. She took in the dark brown hair, the strong jaw, the light stubble of and incipient beard. He had attractive strong features. When the light reached his forehead, she could see the blood trickling down from his head into his forehead. So it was his blood, not hers. And it was coming from his head which was not good. She knew there wasn't much that she could do right there and then. He needed a hospital as soon as possible. She heard the reassuring sound of the ambulance sirens. She got up from the floor and signaled to the approaching vehicles for help.

As her ears stopped ringing, she could just about make out the sounds of the wounded and dying. She helped loading the American into the ambulance and tried to help those she could reach. She dug with her bare hands through what was now the rubble of St Peter's church and reached a little boy, his blond ringlets of hair mated with the blood of a woman shielding him. Temperance pressed her fingers to the woman's jugular. It did not show any signs of life.

"Alright, darling," She called to the boy. "Hold my hand. I'm going to take you out of there, ok?" Her voice was shaky and unsteady. Her hands were firm and gentle.

"Can you help my mummy?" the boy asked.

"Listen, darling, I don't think I can. Do you know your name?"

"Parker. My name is Parker, Ma'am"

"You are a very polite little boy, Parker. Now listen. I want you to hold my hand really hard, ok? Don't let go"

"Yes, Ma'am" The serious little face brought tears to Temperance's eyes. She fought them back. Then, removed one more block of stone and then the boy free from his dead mother's protective embrace. He winced in pain but did not complain. She picked him up in her arms. She could see the lacerations on his legs. The gash on his arm. But otherwise, he seemed to be ok. She reached the ambulance where she had helped loading the American. She got in with the boy in her arms. By the time they reached the London Royal, she exited with the boy still firmly held and an eye on the American. She could see now, with the lights of the admissions ward, that he was wearing the American army uniform. As she walked in ahead of the wounded in gurneys, she shouted out orders to the nurses that had rushed in a flurry of white starched uniforms and sensible shoes.


	21. Red Cross Nurses, Medical Care and

Chapter 3.2 – Medical care, Red Cross nurses and doing the right thing

Temperance saw a familiar face in the sea of white uniforms. Angela Montenegro. Working efficiently through the moans and screams of the wounded, Angela looked, to Temperance's eye, remarkably like an angel dressed in white with the red cross embroided in her apron as a talisman against death. She managed to smile reassuringly to her patients knowing that most of them would not make it through the night. With Parker still clutched tightly in her arms, she made her way to Angela and handed the boy to her friend.

"Lacerations to the legs, possibly fractures on both tibiae, flesh wound to the right arm. Name is Parker, about five years old." She then turned to the boy. "Parker, darling, this is my friend Angela. She will take very good care of you, ok?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Will you come back to see me again?"

"I will, yes, darling. But later, ok?" The boy nodded, a valiant look in his eyes. She then turned to find the American that had saved her. She found him still unconscious. _Not promising._ But he had saved not once, but twice. Even after she had been rude to him. A flash of guilt flushed her cheeks. That couldn't be helped right now, but the man could. All personal thoughts were pushed aside. She was a doctor and she was going to help him. She pushed the gurney where he was lying into an operating room with already two gurneys and not nearly enough space to manoeuver. She enlisted the help from the first nurse she saw, a nervous looking young thing. She snapped out an order that had the girl shaking like a leaf. Dr Brennan had a fierce reputation, so she hurried to help. Together they turned the soldier to allow a better look at the injury. She was ordered to shave the portion of the soldier's hair around the wound. Temperance could then take a good a look at the shrapnel embedded in the bone and the sand from the collapsing buildings clinging to the open gash in the man' head. She carefully cleaned the wound, took a pair of tweezers from the nurse's trembling hands and pulled the shrapnel free. There was a concussion but there was nothing she could do about that except wait and see. She always felt powerless at those times. She then took a cursory look down the man's back and noticed that the there was blood all over his back. She cut the uniform free to reveal more shrapnel lodged along his back. She took a stool, sat and laboriously removed every little bit of the offending metal. She cleaned and dressed the wounds. She had the young nurse transfer him to the officers' ward. She them went to work on the rest of the wounded that had come in.

By morning, her blue eyes were red rimmed and her back was making her painfully aware that she had now been up and on duty for more than 40 hours. Angela materialized behind her and rubbed her back gently.

"You know, sweetie, you need to go and lie down for a few hours. I guarantee there will still be war and mayhem when you wake up. You cannot help anyone if you are passing out."

"I know, Angela", She sighed in reply. "How's the boy?" She asked as Angela motioned her towards the nurses' station. There was nowhere for a female doctor to take a rest. The hospital was only prepared for male doctors. Dr Brennan had been a surprise the administration and the armed forces were not prepared to deal with. Still, she was good. She was one of the best. Not that they would tell her that.

"Parker is going to be ok. We will find his father and he is going to be ok. Now go get some sleep."

"Not yet. First I need to check on another patient. I sent him to the officers' ward."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know, Angela, but he saved my life... twice"

"Oh..." And Angela's mouth formed a suggestive little O that made Temperance smile. "I want to see him. Thank him for saving my best friend and all..." Angela was smiling now. She was clearly anticipating romance. And that seemed to be Angela's whole reason of being. She wanted to find romance for herself and everybody else around her. Which had, obviously, gotten her into trouble with the Red Cross appointed Commander and Quartermaster. Her sensitive heart was trying its hardest to make some sense of the death and destruction around by turning it into an opportunity for soul mates to meet. Even if she had to push one or two more stubborn souls along. And she did push with an alarming regularity. The thought made Temperance smile. Friendship was such a comforting thing, even in the heart of chaos . The fact that there were still smiles and friendship and matchmaking to be had from well-meaning busybodies somehow made sense of the madness. And it made the unimaginable suffering of war a little more bearable. _Oh God, I must be beyond exhausted to start philosophizing on shift._ She sighed and followed Angela.

The two women made their way towards the officers' ward. The room was dark, the blinds pulled down against the morning sun. Soft moans emanated from one of the beds. Temperance was trying to identify the man that had pulled her to safety, but she had no name to go with the face. She looked carefully into the men's faces and did not find the one she was looking for. She checked the charts but when she got to the one that she had prepared the night before, it corresponded to an empty bed. She turned in confusion to Angela. And when she did, she saw a shadow trying to sneak out of the room, which was no easy feat as the shadow belonged to very tall man, and, in Angela's eye, a very well formed one.

"And where do you think you're going?" Temperance almost barked at the man. She approached him and tried to take him by the arm back to his bed. He shook her off.

"Look, Lady, there is something I need to do... I'm fine, you can't hold me here. Just let me go, ok? Let me do the right thing." The pleading tone in his voice did not seem to match the sarcasm she remembered, but it was her improbable savior from the previous night. Instantly, Temperance modulated her tone to a more gentle one.

"Look, you shouldn't be going anywhere. You have a concussion, I had to pull metal from your skull and your back is ripped to a sorry state. I'm sure you must be in a considerable amount of pain. Whatever you need to do, I'm sure it can wait for at least a day..." The change did not go unnoticed by Angela. Her friend was not one to try to be agreeable. A smile crept into her eyes and she just stood by studying the exchange. Temperance was trying to steer the man back to his bed but he gave her a pleading look seasoned with a smile that reminded both women of the little orphan Oliver. Angela was ready to melt down but Temperance was made of sterner stuff. She insisted.

"Whatever it is, I can tell you right now you won't even be able to take enough steps to get there."

"You don't understand... I was supposed to take care of him... I need to go back for him"

"Who?"

"Zach... I promised his mum that I would take him back. He's just a kid..." He tried to get up from the bed where Temperance had helped him sit, but winced in pain as the shredded uniform touched the wounds on his back. Both Temperance and Angela rushed to steady him and took off what was left of the uniform.

"We did not leave anyone behind. Temperance tried to sooth him. I'll help you look among the ones we brought back yesterday. You'll probably find him flirting with some nurse..." Angela was amazed. This was definitely out of character for her friend.

"You really think so?" exhaustion was showing in his striking brown eyes. There was also hope which hadn't been there before.

"Yes, I really think so. Now, you saved my life yesterday and I still don't know your name." Temperance prompted him, running her hand down his face. It was warm. Too warm. She signaled to Angela to get her a bag of antibiotics.

"Booth. Lieutenant Seeley Booth"

"Well, Booth, Lieutenant Seeley Booth, thank you for saving me last night."

"You're English..." He stated confusion in his eyes.

"Well, yes, I am." She was baffled with the comment but put it down to his fever that was running quite high. "Should I be something else?"

"Well... not sure. It's like, in my head, you sounded different... you sounded American... I guess it must be all that metal you pulled from my skull" he punctuated with a weak smile. Angela walked back in with the IV stand and all necessary apparatus for the intravenous administration of the antibiotics. Normally, she would be the one to do this. Doctors did not bother with such details. But not Brennan. She swabbed the skin in the soldier's arm with antiseptic, took the needle and pushed it through the resistance of the skin and vein, attached the tube of plastic to the needle and verified that all was in order. She pulled a chair and sat by the bed.

"Now, Lieutenant, this will take care of your fever. But you need to lie down and rest. I'll stay here with you." As Seeley was dozing off into sleep, he looked into Temperance's blue eyes.

"You're very pretty, Doctor..." He brushed just the tips of his fingers over her face. It was a soft, warm touch that left a trail of fire. She jerked back, surprised, watching the stranger drift into sleep. Not stopping to analyse her actions she caught his strong hand in his. And watched him sleep.

A while later, Angela walked back into officers' ward. She saw Temperance sitting on a metal chair by the soldier's bed, her hand caught in his, her head resting on the white sheets, both of them sleeping soundly. She closed the door with care and walked back to the nurses' quarters with a smile on her face.


	22. The losses and gains of war

Chapter 3.3- The losses and gains of war.

Angela moved swiftly through the London Royal's corridors, precious cargo hidden in her tray. She had her contacts outside the prison that was the hospital for a Royal Nurse with all its rules. On this particular occasion, she had received what would make a very special dinner for Temperance, her soldier and herself. She walked into the officer's ward where 6 of the 10 beds were currently occupied. As luck would have it, only one of the current patients in the ward was conscious. And that was Temperance's soldier. She walked in, put the tray on an empty bed and switched on the bed side table lamp. She touched Temperance on the shoulder to wake her up and realized the American was awake and looking at her friend with a twinkle in his eye. _Hum...promising!_ It was, she though, lucky that she had brought dinner. The soldier looked away and Temperance woke up, surprised to be waking up at all as she didn't normally sleep. Sleep was something she hadn't achieved in quite some time. What normally happened was a passing out of exhaustion.

Angela was all excitement- carefully hidden. She put the tray on the cart next to the bed and revealed her treasure: there were huge thick slices of softly baked bread, fried eggs, proper butter and three huge slices of apple pie, all wonderful wartime luxuries. For that meal at least, they could forget powdered milk and powdered eggs and corned beef- the staple of wartime rationing meals. They dug into the meal like the famished.

"This is probably the best apple pie in the whole world, Ms Montenegro. Thank you!" Booth said, his mouth watering slightly at the thought of the barely touched slice on the doctor's plate. He pointed at it with the fork. "Are you planning on having that or just talking to it?"

"Are you still hungry?" Temperance asked in disbelief. He had just demolished three fat slices of bread with butter, two eggs, two cups of coffee, his own slice of pie... the man was an eating machine. She pushed her pie to him in a silent offer.

"So", Temperance asked, "that friend that you wanted to go looking for, Lieutenant Booth, can you tell me his name and how he looks like?"

"I'll go with you. It'll be faster"

"Not if you collapse on your way." Booth was already up but realized that he was in hospital attire- none too flattering and had nothing to put on his feet. Again Angela jumped to the rescue by getting him a robe and a pair of slippers from the cupboard at the far end of the ward, in an action that earned her a stonily displeased look from the doctor. Much to Booth's admiration, the nurse did not falter. She efficiently helped him move into the robe and put on the slippers. She patted Temperance in the arm with an "Off you go" that silenced any protestations. She went so far as to remind Temperance that the patient might need the support of her arm as he might still be dizzy. Happy with herself, she watched Temperance in her military issue doctor uniform walk down the corridor with the tallest soldier she had ever seen- and handsome as the devil himself to cap it all. Doctor Brennan, MO, might be scary to every one else, but Angela knew what buttons to push and she fully intended to do so to get her to have a life- despite the war outside.

The Lieutenant and the Doctor walked down the corridors towards the general wards. Booth's heart was tight with apprehension. He had to find young Zach. Mrs. Addy had made him promise over an awful lot of apple pies, to take care of her boy. But it was more than that. Over time, the boy had endeared himself to Booth. And that was despite himself. Normally, Booth would have preferred to associate with burlier types- like himself. Less chance of hurting them. But young Addy, with his bright mind and gentle nature had slowly wormed his way into the Lieutenant's heart.

Booth held on to the Doctor's arm. She did not look too happy about escorting him. He knew she would have preferred he stayed in bed, but he was in a hurry to find Zach. Once he did- he would go back to lying down. God knew he could use a bit more of that excellent apple pie. He was in pain that he did not dare voicing to the doctor and his head felt at least three times its normal size. He was sure he would find Zach sitting on a bed surrounded by maternal nurses and smiling his goofy smile at something he would not understand immediately.

But they walked into all the 10 wards of the London Royal without finding the familiar face. Zach had been standing so close to him when the air raid began he had been certain he would find him, at least, in the same hospital. He sat in a wooden bench at the end of one more corridor, his legs giving in to the huge weight he felt in his heart. He covered his eyes with his hand. But he did not fool Temperance. She took his hand in hers.

"We'll find him. There are so many places he could be!"

"I just want to send him home in one piece, you know?" he looked at her and found understanding in her eyes. "I know this is a war, but some people just shouldn't be caught in it, Doctor. They shouldn't be caught in it!" There was a very stubborn tear that he didn't seem able to push away. She pretended not to see it. She was all too familiar with the feeling. Too many young men had died during her watch, despite her best efforts, despite her prayers, despite the hours she had spent awake fighting for them. She too had shed tears she did not want anyone to see.

"I need to take you back to bed." She took his wrist and counted heartbeats. She counted more than she wanted to. She placed her hand on his forehead and it felt too warm. Unable to resist, she slid her hand down his cheek. It was an unusual gesture for her. She was not the type to squander affection. But it felt so right! It made time stand still and her heart ache for something she did not care to define at that particular moment.

With the Lieutenant back in bed, Temperance got on the phone. She made a few calls enquiring about Zach Addy, American soldier. She called the South Bank first, than, St Mary's. No one had seen Private Addy. She prepared to call the morgues, his dog tag number in hand, but couldn't quite manage to. Instead, and even knowing it was along shot, she called the rectory at St Paul's first.


	23. Lost and found

Chapter 3.4- Lost and found

Lieutenant Booth woke up, breathing laboured, in a pool of sweat. The images of his dream still vivid in his mind. It was always the same dream: the darkness broken by flashes of fire, the explosions, deafening, crippled him with terror. The faces of the dead swimming in front of him, the sounds of the dying, the silence of the dead. God only knew how many killed by his own hand. It was Hell. He prayed to God every day for absolution but Hell was a place inside him that did not wait for the end of his life. But this time, he felt, God had sent him an angel to help him find his way back. A rasp voice called his name, beaconing him away from all the ghosts. And when he turned, a pair of blue eyes irradiated an impossible light. Such a familiar pair of eyes. Like he had been guided home by them before. Like they were home.

"Lieutenant Booth!" Dr Brennan shook him carefully. His eyes were open but they seemed to be looking straight through her. "Lieutenant Booth!" He exhaled heavily and seemed to return to himself.

"Bad dream?" Brennan asked, her hand turning purple in the tight grip of his. He looked down to her fingers, released and kissed them slightly.

"Sorry, about your fingers, Dr McPretty. Yes, it was a bad dream"

"What did you call me?"

"Dr McPretty. Cutie McPretty"

"My name is Brennan. Temperance Brennan. Why are you calling me that?" She asked primly.

"Well, we were never formally introduced, Brennan, Temperance Brennan. And I still like Dr McPretty better." He had a crooked smile on his face. A smile designed to charm which he seemed to have practiced abundantly.

"Well, I don't. Now, I think it's time for your lunch" She helped him up, fluffed his pillow to support him better, checking for temperature in the process. But her mind registered only the firmness of his body, the electrical heat emanating from him. She was doing the nurse's job, and she knew it. It bothered her that he was having such an effect on her. But she couldn't seem to stop wanting to touch him.

"Lunch? You mean I missed breakfast?" there was an amused disappointment plastered on his face.

"Well", Angela walked in pushing in a wheel chair, "you were sleeping so peacefully, I though you could wait for" But she never got to finish the sentence. Booth jumped out of bed towards the wheel chair. He took the man's face in his hands, turning it left and right, then his arms inspecting each one at a time and then his legs. Satisfied that the other man seemed to be ok, he pulled back and looked Private Addy square in the eye:

"Addy, you EVER," and he emphasized the word pointing his finger at Zach's nose "EVER disappear from where I can see you, I swear to God, I'll kill you with my own two hands, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir, Lieutenant, Sir" and he almost saluted Booth. "I'm sorry sir!" he was only a boy, Temperance thought. If the generals that sent boys to war had to send their own sons, they would soon find other forms of entertainment.

"Where were you?" Booth tried to remain stern, but the relief he felt was showing in his handsome features.

"Well, I tried to help a lady with her boy, but something hit me in the head and I fainted. When I woke up, there was a priest taking care of me. I did not have the heart to tell him that I'm a Presbyterian." Booth resisted the urge to hug him.

"Did he send you here? Are you OK?" and there was a slight panic in his voice.

"Oh. I'm fine, Mr. Booth…I mean… Lieutenant Booth, Sir." Zach corrected hastily. "But Dr Brennan went to the rectory and brought me here. She said you wanted to see if I was ok…I'm Ok, Sir!" Booth looked in Temperance's direction.

"Did she, now?"

"Well, yes Sir, you see…" And though he was certain Zach was explaining the events, Booth could not hear anything but echo. His brown eyes were caught in a pair of blue ones. A pair of blue eyes he was certain belonged to an angel.

Angela was not one to miss a beat. So she tapped young Addy in the shoulder and turned his wheel chair away from the room.

"Come on. Zach Addy, I've got a slice of carrot cake with your name on it!" and she closed the door behind her. She would have stayed glued to the other side of the door to hear the fireworks, had it not been for the boy with the confused look on his face sitting in the wheelchair. Carrot cake it was, then.

Inside the room, Dr Brennan was finding it progressively harder to breathe. Booth moved towards her, took her hand and kissed it. It was a kiss light as feathers but it had in it a whole lot of heart. She wanted to take her hand and run from that room, from that pair of brown eyes. But somehow, she couldn't. He pulled her slowly but inexorably into his arms. She could not take her eyes from his, her senses were invaded by his scent and she had no defenses left. It was like there was giant magnet pulling her to him and when their lips finally touched, she felt a rush of blood to the head. Her whole body felt alive at that particular moment. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, those lips so warm brushing against hers. There was tenderness but also a demanding that she wanted nothing more than to oblige. She took the final step into his arms and surrendered. They fit like a puzzle. All her curves finding a match in him, all of his finding a place to fit in her. His hands slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer, spreading heat throughout her skin, dispensing little electric shocks along every inch of skin they touched. Her hands, that had been hanging parallel to her body, held on his robe for support and finally ended up on his hair, slightly below the bandage she had placed herself, playing with the short spiky hair. Their tongues danced together in a dance old as time. When they had to break up for air, they were both shocked by their reactions to each other. Shocked and scared. And Temperance did what came naturally to her at that particular moment. She ran like the devil himself was on her tail.


	24. The defenses we build and those who tear

Chapter 3.5- The defenses we build and those who tear them down

She hid in plain sight. She headed to the paediatrics ward and found the little boy she had rescued from the ruins of St Peter's. He looked slightly confused when she called his name. It took her sometime to do the maths and realize that it had been more than three days since that night. She produced a small bar of chocolate from her rationing pack. It was a sad thing, poor in milk and sugar, that tasted slightly like soap. Parker however, lit up like Oxford Street on Christmas before the war at the sight of it. He thanked her as if his mum had still been reminding him to do so and then just attacked it with the joy only a child has in the face of bad chocolate. She felt her heart steady as she cuddled the boy and told him fairy stories. He was a beautiful child and made her heart ache for a child of her own. It seemed unreasonable that after achieving so much in her lifetime, and living through a war that seemed to be in no hurry to end, the only thing she really wanted was a baby of her own. It seemed, though, that, for the time being, that would be a dream that would have to be postponed. A baby and a war were two things that did not coexist- at least not in her mind. Parker himself had never known, if he was indeed 5 years old, anything but war time and deprivation. It hardly seemed fair on any child.

Her thoughts steered back to the American. She tried to tell herself hat it had nothing to do with her entertaining thoughts of having a family of her own. _That's a rubbish mental process, Temperance Brennan!_ There was no connection between thinking of children and having her own thoughts turning against her and retuning again and again to _him_. She sighed. She had always been the in habit of being direct. To a fault, sometimes, but this was different. He had a strange effect on her. Made her gooey at the core, and knocked down her carefully built defences against falling for handsome soldiers, against caring for them in more than a professional way. That was Angela's particular talent, not hers. Usually, she wasn't particularly soft towards patients, so what was it about this one?

And she did not find an answer for that particular question. Another thing she wasn't used to. Normally, if she thought well enough, long enough about a subject, she would always find an answer. She sighed yet again. She would just have to face him. _Cutie McPretty indeed!_ He was sweet, though, with his preoccupation with his young protégé. It would have destroyed him if he couldn't take the boy in one piece to his mum. For a man like him, a promise was a bond. She kissed Parker on the forehead, promised to return with more chocolate and made her way down the white polished corridors towards the officers' ward. She wanted to prove to herself that her reaction before was just a biological response to lack of sleep of something equally mundane.

She walked right past Angela helping a patient to walk and didn't even register the fact. Which gave Angela's radar a solid indication that something was up. And she if she knew her friend- and she did- it had something to do with the American. The nurse cut short the patient's walk- much to his disappointment, as he usually got an evil spirited matron or other to help him _regaining his feet_ as they put it, though he was now missing a leg.

Angela shot towards the officers' ward as soon as she could and, as it turned out, in plenty of time to see the door close behind the good doctor. The delay meant one of two things- either there had been someone inside the ward- and she did not want to discuss the matter in front of that person or, even better, she had been gathering her courage before going in. Either way, it was excellent news. Carefully, she pulled a metal chair towards he door of the ward so that she could both stand guard and listen in- without being noticed. It was, Angela felt, better than going to the cinema, as she felt she had credit on this particular storyline.

Temperance had indeed taken some time for a few deep breaths. She wanted to steady herself before going in. She walked in and- after fixing her hair slightly, though she did not particularly notice the gesture-, though it embarrassed her, spared a quick thought of thanks that none of the occupiers of the ward was conscious- safe for the American. As she approached the bed, she saw him pretty much lounging there, the hospital linen covering very little of his large frame. The click clack of her heels alerted him to the fact that it was not yet another nurse to check his vitals and temperature and whatever else they did at these places. He recognized the footsteps but did not turn. He stretched just a little bit more, smiled just a little wider and made sure the pyjamas opened just a little more on his well defined torso. It had the desired effect on Temperance. She was forced to contend with a wave of desire that ran the length of her body. She cleared her throat. _What was the word the Americans used for what he was? Ah, yes, cocky! He was very cocky!_ He did not acknowledge her. She sighed inwardly.

"Lieutenant!"

"Dr McPretty!"

"Don't call me that!"

"Oh, sorry… McPretty! How are you on this fine day?"

"Oh come on! It's _Dr _Brennan" And she emphasised doctor.

"Oh, I thought you were objecting to the Dr part…"

"No. Just to the McPretty part."  
"Shame… 'cause I'm gonna keep on calling you McPretty!"

Temperance decided that one battle at a time was the way to go. Hastings had not been won all in a day.

"Look, I need to know what happened a while ago…"

"And what was that?"

"Don't be daft! You know what I'm talking about"

"I really don't"

_Oh God! He's going to make me say it!_ Temperance cringed. She knew it was silly and that he was just teasing her, but she felt deflated.

"Come on McPretty, you know, I may have brain damage from that piece of metal you took from my skull. Give me a break!" And he gave her a very seasoned charm smile that probably had been the undoing of many, many women.

"Oh, very well, then! I want to know whathappenedwhenyoukissedme…" The last few words came out in a rush. Obviously, he did not let it pass.

"I'm sorry McPretty but you English talk way too fast. I'm just a simple country boy…" Inside, Booth was laughing his heart out. She would have to say it out loud. Just for running from him. Once she did, he would… _compensate_ her for being brave.

"I said... I need to know what happened when you kissed me…" And she flushed visibly.

"Yeah, I thought you had said that! But as far as I can remember, McPretty, you kissed me back. I seem to remember your hands in my neck and my hair and your tongue in mine and our lips together… you have very soft lips, by the way!"

"Oh, ok, ok, stop!" On the other side of the door, Angela was making mental notes to give Lieutenant Booth a medal for bravery. She had never seen anyone taking on Brennan like that. Not without full body armor, anyway. Oh this was such good stuff. "I just want to know why you did it. Do you go around kissing everybody like that?"

"Like what? And the same goes for you! Do you go about your day kissing every guy that walks in or is wheeled into this place?"

"Of course not! That's insulting!"

"Well, there you go, McPretty! I feel insulted too! I don't go through life kissing every pretty doctor I come across." She sighed, slightly uncomfortable. But it still did not explain why he had kissed her. And most particularly, why she had reacted like that to him. "And I kissed you because… well, because I felt like I had to or I'd always regret it. Do you ever feel like that?"

"No…"

"Yeah, me either… But I felt like I had to kiss you right there and then. And I'm gonna tell you something else: I don't regret it! I think it was the most amazing kiss- the most amazing first kiss!"

"First kiss?" She walked towards his bed. She wasn't even aware of doing so until she found herself touching the cloth of his pyjamas, feeling the heat emanating from him.

"Oh yeah… because you can bet whatever you want that I'll be kissing you again!" And he sat down on the bed and taped it in an invitation for her to sit. When she did, he moved slowly to her, took her chin in his index finger to look well into her eyes and then, as plain as rain, kissed her. Kissed her until they were fusing into each other, until there was nothing else in the world but them, until he was certain that he never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again. Until she felt those were the lips she was supposed to be kissing for the rest of her life.


	25. Not tthe homemaking sort

Chapter 3.6- Not the home-making sort.

In two weeks, Lieutenant Booth was released back to his unit based in Dover. The Red Cross Commandant had noted that there was no need for further internment period for the American. There were no sequels to the head injury and the wounds to the back had healed quite satisfactorily. Dr Brennan could not come up with any reason for his staying except for the fact that she would much prefer to know that while under her care, he would not be going into any battle field or dangerous mission. And that she did not voice- to the Commandant, to Booth, Angela or even to the walls of her bedroom.

She made sure her shift duty was over by the time the release papers for Booth were signed. She met him at the door, deciding it was poor judgment to hold his hand in public. She did not need her superior officers questioning her motives or her suitability for duty. With a silent request that he did not query her, she asked him to follow her. Once around the corner, he held out his hand to her.

"Don't you worry, McPretty. I know how things are." He wanted to kiss her but they were far too close to the hospital's walls to risk it. "You know, there is little else that I want to do more than to kiss you now!" She was caught in the intensity of his eyes. She felt kissed. It was something of the mind and heart as much as of lips and tongues. There would be time for that later, she decided. Even if she had to stop all the clocks.

They hopped on the bus to her apartment. It was a sad little thing on the first floor of a Victorian conversion. It had all the trademarks of someone who does not so much live in a place as occupies it. When he walked in he immediately realized that she did not spend time enough in there to worry about making it a home. There was precious little in the way of material comfort. There were books. Books in every available table, shelf and flat surface. But the rest was… Spartan. There was a pastel in violent blues of a lighthouse in a storm hanging on the wall. Booth put down his bag and walked through the apartment. There was something about wartime that made people more aware of life, of how short life is. He was absolutely sure that, in peace time, he would not be in that apartment. He would not be about to make love to that amazing woman. He knew that's why he was there. She wanted to say see _you later_. She wanted to ask him to come back to her in one piece. She did not need any apple pie like Mrs Addy to make him promise. He would promise her anything she needed. And he'd be damned if he was not going to keep that promise. He wanted nothing more than hearing her ask him to make sure he kept himself safe. And to fulfill that promise. Somehow, he knew he was supposed to.

In her room, Temperance did what she could to make it homier. She regretted not being the house wife type. She valued her books much more than anything else in the world. She had gone so far as to trade some of her rationing coupons for rare books. People were sadly desperate and would sell anything that could increase their food allowance. She had acquired a copy of "in praise of folly" that had to be a good 300 years old or more. She wanted to feel proud of her purchase, but was incapable as she knew what it had cost someone to sell it. She hoped she would never have to sell her precious books. As it was, though, right now, she was beginning to think that it might have been wiser to invest in some sort of creature comforts- a few fluffy pillows, a few rugs, some wood for the fire, and, God help her, some food. How was this supposed to be a romantic night- their first night- together if the apartment seemed straight out of the poor house?

She walked into the kitchen, flustered. He had gone back to admiring the painting on the wall.

"It's Angela's… she gave it to me."

"I was gonna say it's pretty. I'm no art lover, but I think it's more than that. It's… intense…" She smiled at that. That was true. She walked into the kitchen and rummaged through he cupboards. She found some of her nice tea, and a stash of chocolate- the good one. But nothing else. She was about to apologize for the fact when he opened his bag and revealed an assortment of goodies- eggs, bread, cheese and apples. And miracle of miracles, there were even scones with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. She laughed in relief.

"Angela!"  
"Angela!" They both laughed. Yes, Angela was a guardian angel.

"She handed me the bag and told me, whichever place I was going, I could thank her later!"

"I'm nervous…" She confessed out of the blue.

"Because I'm here?"

"Yes… I know exactly what I want to happen tonight, but I'm not exactly sure how to make it happen… I… I'm just scared we might not see each other again…" He put the eggs down carefully and hugged her. She fit inside his arms as if she'd been made to be there at all times. He wanted to stay like that for the next hundred years. He kissed lightly at first. Her hair, her forehead, her lips but, by the time he got to her neck, he was done being patient, being gentle. She smelled like lavender and orange flower and was responding to each of his kisses with fire on fire. Her hands traveled to the buttons of his uniform and undid one by one placing greedy kisses where each button had been. She slid off the coat of the formal uniform and then the shirt. She was enjoying undressing him and took her time doing so. He pulled her up to sit on the kitchen table. His hands ran up and down her back. Her uniform was a work of art of English tailors- clearly used to working for men and men alone. But he'd be damned if that wasn't one of the most exciting things he had ever taken a woman out of. He unbuttoned every single brass button of her coat under the moonlight sifting in through the kitchen window. His impatience cost her a button. He held it to the light.

"Are you gonna get in trouble if you lose one of these?"  
"No…" He put the little button in his pocket.

"Then I'm saving it for luck" She laughed at that. It was ridiculous how such a mundane remark could make her so happy.

"What keepsake are you going to give me?" She asked in between kisses on his lightly bearded chin.

"Well, I already gave you my heart. What else could you possibly ask for?" It was said so seriously that the easy sentimentalism went unnoticed. Somehow, and just because it was Booth saying it, it was nothing more, nothing less than the truth. She hugged him with all her might. She just had to. Her cheek pressed against his chest, his heart beat under her ear. Her own heart was beating painfully in her chest. When she released her grip, he removed what was left of their uniforms and cradling her in his arms, carried her to her bedroom. He deposited her gently on the bed and photographed her in that particular moment, in his mind. He wanted to be really old and still remember how she looked like under the light of the moon, slightly embarrassed under his intense scan, how her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses and how her face was flushed with desire. There was no mistake. She wanted him as much as he wanted her- carnally, heatedly, no holds barred. They wanted each other absolutely. His finger trailed from the curve of her neck to her knee. He took his time. He knew she should not be rushed. Despite herself. He kneeled in from of her and kissed each little goosebump on her skin. He warmed her up with his breath, his desire. And then he tickled her. He needed to hear her laugh- it was a desperate need- he couldn't explain it. So he kissed all the spots he knew would make her ticklish- her elbow, her waist, her belly button -always studying, waiting for the laughter. When she could hold it no more, she held on to him, laughing in delight and he rolled her atop him.

"What would happen if I pulled those hair pins out of your hair? You know what?" and he sat up and pulled three pins releasing a glorious mass of auburn hair. He ran his hands down strands of it, marveling at the softness of it, the lavender smell of it. "So much better". He sighed and pulled her to him, the need to possess her- heart and soul- overcoming his will.


	26. Floor picnic and Saint Christopher

Chapter 3.7- Floor picnic and St Christopher

Later, much later, he covered a sleeping Temperance with blankets and got up. He walked into the kitchen with its street facing window. It was dark, as there was a world at war outside and a blackout was a necessity. People were coming and going about their daily errands. The world outside remained the same- normal- or as near normal as could be had in a war. And yet, there he was, standing naked in a London kitchen still smelling of lavender- a scent that his skin had borrowed from hers. How could it be that the word remained the same if he was in love with the most extraordinary woman he had ever met? How could it be that there was still a war outside? How could anyone go about their daily lives if his had just changed into something… magical?

He closed the dark heavy drapes before switching on the lights. He opened the wine and poured two glasses- thick milk glasses- he laughed holding the object. He would have to be responsible for making them a home. She didn't seem to have a single housewife bone in her body. He'd buy them the glasses and candle holders, the cushions and sheets. She could just curl up somewhere with one of the hundreds of volumes that populated the apartment.

He broke the wonderfully fresh eggs into a bowl, mixed and poured them into a skillet that she must have used no more than once or twice. He made tea- though he winced at it. He would much prefer a warm cup of coffee, but this was, not only Temperance's house, but a war and there was rationing going on. At least it was good tea. Even he could recognize the good stuff. He washed and sliced the apples arranging them on a plate. _God bless Angela for the food we're about to get!_ The cheese wasn't half bad and as for the scones, well, suffice to say that they'd come from Fortnum and Mason's. How did that woman manage to produce such miracles? _God bless Angela for the food we're about to get!_ He repeated to himself. Now if only McPretty had a tray….

Turned out she didn't. No surprises there, he thought with a laugh. So he carried it all to the bedroom and set out a picnic of sorts on the floor. He lit a candle and checked his watch. There was still time. He kissed her awake. She made to grab a robe and slip it on.

"Please don't!" He was still naked himself. And he seemed so comfortable in her apartment, his body a tantalizing mass of well defined muscles and perfect skin. He offered her a hand and folded a blanket so she could seat comfortably on the floor. "This is how I want to remember you. You gotta admit it, McPretty, that it's a great incentive to come back in one piece!" It was said in a playful tone. But it was said nonetheless. What she'd been trying to put out of her mind the whole evening now came back with a vengeance. She lunged forward into his arms and took his face in her hands.

"Please be careful…" There wasn't much more to be said in that respect. It was not in their hands, they knew. But still she could not stop the tears. She held on to his neck and he cradled her until he felt that she was calmer.

"Hey, McPretty, look, you gotta eat! These babies are from Fortnum and Mason's! Even a Yankee knows that is the good stuff!" He tried hard to change the subject, but it was always there on the back of his mind. It had taken a war- because let's face it- it would not have happened in peace times- for them to meet. And now, because of that very same war, they ran the risk of never seeing each other again.

They put on their bravest faces, each lost in their own thoughts. And that meal, sitting on the floor and eating scones from some fancy tea house, was something they would both, in the times ahead, think of to ward off loneliness and fear.

By five am, they took a taxi to Victoria station. Booth's train would be leaving at 5.30 am. The station was a dark and dreary old thing filled with the black smoke from the welsh coal, a smell Temperance would, from that moment onwards, associate with heartache. They hugged against the cold. Temperance had managed to get a hold on herself and was determined not to cry. She would not make this difficult for him. She would be smiling when he waved her goodbye. But for the moment, she would just enjoy the warmth of his body, she would just be like any other girl saying goodbye to her man.

"Ah, guv'nor, ain't love grand?" Someone shouted at them. Booth smiled and held her just a little bit tighter. The train engine chugged a little more coal and the platform master whistled for the last passengers to board.

"Will you write to me, McPretty?" She laughed.

"Well, I can promise I'll reply. I'm not the kind of girl to chase after men!"

"Just promise that you'll Polo when I Marco you"

"I'm not sure I know what that means…"

"Well… It's like a game. I say Marco, you answer back Polo. It's very simple…"

"It's very daft!"

"Temperance!"

"Ok, ok, don't get you panties in a twist! I'll Polo!"

The platform master raised his hand signalling the train to depart. The clouds of smoke billowed in the air, the wheels started moving and slowly the train started its journey towards Dover. They walked still holding on to each other, trying to keep up with the moving train. When it became impossible to walk together, Booth stole one final kiss and hopped on the train.

"You still need to give me a keepsake!" She shouted trying to be heard above the noise made by the train engine and the whistle and the all the voices saying goodbye. Booth pulled a gold chain from his neck. Temperance ran trying to keep up with the train. Booth stretched his hand with the chain dangling from it and her fingers sill managed to touch his for the briefest of moments before closing around the chain.

"St Christopher! To protect you!" He yelled and waved goodbye with his hat.

She held the chain to her heart. And then she put it around her neck. A talisman to keep her safe as much as him. She would, she promised herself, return it to him as soon as the war was over and they were both safe.

As Angela had promised her so many times, there was still war and mayhem to keep them all busy. The next nine months flew by. There were the letters that arrived with regularity- stamped from the barracks in Dover. Booth had tried to explain how it was to live in the caves carved out in the white chalk of the cliffs, but his letters had mostly been censored. He'd tell her how he would worry himself sick until he received her replies after each air raid. It took too damned long until he was sure she was ok. Until, one day, while listening to the radio, after yet one more inspiring speech from Mr Churchill he heard a message from "Dr McPretty saying _Polo_ to her American love" It was buried between a sequence of many other messages between loved ones, but it was there. He could have cried. She had found a faster way to let him know she was ok after the latest air raid.

*********************

_May 1944_

She received her orders the usual way. A white envelope given to her by the quartermaster of the Red Cross, a sturdy, no nonsense woman in white flat shoes and white, starched uniform.

"We're going to miss you Dr Brennan!" And she turned on her heal, her fast eye scanning corridors for any signs of impropriety. Somehow, not even that sounded true. So it was to be that fast, that even the hospital had already been notified of her departure.

Her hands shook slightly when opening the envelope.

_Dr Brennan._

_Report to Commandant Cullen, Southampton. Immediate Dispatch._

It meant only one thing: civilian doctors were being drafted because something big was being prepared. She had heard it all before, the promises that each important battle would mean the end of the war, but it never did. It had never affected her before. Her name, being a woman, had never come up before. So this was going to be big.

She found Angela in the nurses station trying to sleep. She had been restless for quite sometime now. Temperance knew that she ached for respite from the hospital rigidity, for the carefree living of her times as an artist. She had been making noises about eloping to Paris with the first handsome soldier that gave her the time of day. Temperance worried about her friend now that she was going away. Angela was a bubbly personalty, loyal to her friends and her causes, but she had always needed an anchor. That anchor was Temperance. And she just knew her friend would do something rash. She spoke gently, touching Angela's arm.

"Angela"

"Sweetie... something's wrong... Oh God, what's wrong?" Temperance tried to sooth her to no avail.

"Nothing is wrong, Angela. It's just that I... well..." She gave up and handed Angela the telegram.

"I don't follow, sweetie... why now? I mean, they never called women before... oh God! This is something big, right? Can I go? Can't you just make a request to take me with you?" Temperance didn't quite know what to answer. She would miss her friend horribly, but she did not want her where she could get hurt, as she was in no doubt this was the kind of situation that would turn out nasty. They did not call women- civilian- doctors if things weren't about to get bad.

"Angela, listen, even if could make that kind of request, I wouldn't. Can you understand why? I can't get you in a situation where you can get hurt. Not even if you ask me like that!" And she was surprised when she effectively silenced Angela's protestations. Later on, she realized, she should have noticed something. Angela would. Angela always noted when someone was hiding something from her.

"Did you write to Booth about this?"

"Not yet... I just got it."

"Call the World service, sweetie. It'll be faster." And so saying, she switched on the huge wood covered radio. The lamp inside it lit up the darkness of the nurses station with a soft light. There was a Glenn Miller song playing, a cheery tune that reminded them of happier days, before the war, when they had been young and carefree and innocent of the evil men was capable of. She pushed the telephone to Temperance. It was a number they both knew by heart, having used so often during the last months.

"The message is" Angela heard Temperance dictate "McPretty is off with St Christopher. Stay safe, Yankee. Meet you for scones and coffee when this is over." As usual, they sat waiting for the broadcast.

Half an hour later, they heard the soothing voice of the BBC broadcaster reading through the messages of the listeners. As usual, Temperance's heart jolted when the name McPretty came up in their airwaves. It always did at the tough that Booth would be tuning in to the same station to hear from her. But the jolt became shock when, instead of hearing her message, she herd _Hi McPretty, Gotta fly- the saint is carrying us to unknown location. Be safe. Meet you for proper coffee as soon as this is over._


	27. Blood on the sand

Chapter 3.8- Blood on the sand

When she reported in Southampton, having only had the time to pack a duffel with a change of uniform and underwear before catching the train in Charring Cross, she was feeling apprehensive and exhausted. Commander Cullen barely acknowledged her presence. He seemed harassed and worried. As it turned out, she was not the only new arrival at the naval base of Southampton. They were all gathered in the officers' mess for a briefing session. When the commander addressed them, it was with a clipped voice and none of the bonhomie he was known for in times of peace.

"Gentlemen, ladies. You are to, on a need to know basis, initiate combat training. Where we're being deployed we will need to be doctors as much as soldiers. I do not ask that you take arms and shoot. But I am reminding that it is your responsibility to keep yourselves alive. Many, many lives will depend on that ability. I ask that you all, as members of her majesty's army and of the Red Cross take on that responsibility. You are dismissed"

The forty or so people in the room looked aghast at each other. They were doctors. They were civilians despite the rank they carried in that time of war. But mostly, they had sworn to defend and treasure human life. Now they were being asked to take training not in saving, but in destroying lives. In Temperance's mind the certainty formed that whatever this was, it was so big that Booth's unit would be involved. She knew it in her heart, in every single one of her bones. And decided, there and then that philosophy about life and death and Hippocratic oaths were all very fine and dandy if your heart, if the person that you loved wasn't in a war. As far as she was concerned, she would learn how to kill with her bare heads if that might be of any assistance to the ones she loved. To Booth.

Weeks passed by in gruelling training sessions. She made herself as fit for combat as possible. There were no letters for her during that time. From Booth or from Angela. So, she called the BBC again. She dictated a message for Angela and a message for Booth. She had very little hope that Booth could answer. If he could, she would have received a letter by now. She had no doubt he would make it happen. But she hoped to God that Angela would reply. When they parted in London, Angela sounded distant, but not angry. Maybe just slightly aloof. She couldn't really understand that silence. One more week went by without communication. She posted a letter and hoped for a reply. Instead, a week later on the 5th July, she received her own letter marked UNDELIVERABLE and a letter from Angela, with Parisian postage on it.

"_Temperance, my dear friend_

_I swear, before the war, I only ever wanted to see Paris, to walk the Seine side walks, to breathe the same air Picasso did- though he turned to be a misogynistic sad little git. I wanted to be someone's muse. I never wanted to be in a war. But you know me, I can't resist a sob story. When you left, I felt so lonely I couldn't stay there any more. It was never fun after you left- and yes, I know how shallow that sounds. So I though I'd come to Paris to fight the Nazis, help the French resistance with secret missions or something terribly romantic. I have read far too many novels. Now I find myself in the pit despair. Parisians are hungry and sick. The winter has been devastating and the Nazis are relentless. There are no doctors- the Jews have been deported, swept under the Arian carpets and everybody else with some sense has left the city. I exaggerate. There are some good people still. There's Dr Hodgins. I think I may be in love with Dr Hodgins. You will say that it's a flight of fancy, but I do think that I loved him even before I met him. I think you understand me better than you'll ever admit to it. That's just your nature, so reserved, so quiet. I'm not. I have no shame. That's why I ask you: come and see me, Temperance. I need you, your rational mind here to tell me what to do, how to cope with so many dead. How to cope with the raids from the Gestapo and the SS. I need you to tell me that everything is going to be just fine._

_With love_

_Angela_

Temperance never had the time to compose a reply. Commander Cullen gathered them all in the officers' mess and told them of what lay ahead.

"You are all gathered here because the beginning of the end has now arrived. At the break of dawn tomorrow, led by the US Army Rangers, Normandy will be under intense attack by the allied forces. A great number of casualties is to be expected. The Nazis hold supremacy positions. Our boys are going in with their guts and their courage. We will be following in their footsteps. We will be armed with our knowledge of medicine and our courage..." But for Temperance, the speech started loosing sound definition when the sense of the words "led by the US Army Rangers" sank in. From that moment onwards, a buzzing started inside her head. It grew until all the sounds in the room were drowned out. She had to get up, she had, she felt, to urgently go somewhere. But her legs did not hold her. She had taken no more than two steps when her vision blurred and the floor slid from under her feet. The world slipped into a another plan of existence where Booth was not a US Army Ranger and she did not have to worry about finding his body mangled and covered in blood.

Her first sensation was of smell. That of the salts her grandmother was so fond of when she had her "episodes". Then there were all the distorted faces hovering above her. She tried to sit down. All the faces rushed to tell her to stay down. She took a deep breath.

"I'm ok. I'm ok. Just my blood pressure, that's all. I need some food. I don't think I had lunch today". All the concerned faces seemed to relax. She had managed to say the correct thing.

She did not sleep a wink that night. Every time she closed her eyes, a different scenario to find Booth dead popped into her eyes.

By dawn, the whole Red Cross corps had been loaded into a tank like boat. They had crossed the Channel half way when the explosions of the land mines became audible, when the smoke billowing in the air became visible. The boat came to a halt. They were supposed to just wait there until the battle for what had been designated Omaha beech subsided. Temperance could see land. Her hand clutched the Saint Christopher medal Booth had given her and prayed. She had never been the religious type. She wasn't even sure she was saying the prayers in the correct text. But, somehow, to her it only mattered that she could hold on to something physical to give her hope. She concentrated on the sound of her whispered prayer to drown out the screams she thought she could hear. She pushed away visions of a bloodied Booth gasping for air out of her mind. And when, after what seemed like hours of waiting for their cue to land, the boat approached land, She jumped out into the water and made her way past the bodies floating on the surf. She concentrated on the ones in the sand. Her first moment of panic quickly dominated gave way to a frenetic Temperance in doctor mode hurrying from body to body. The sand was blood red and there seemed to be body parts scattered through every inch of that beach. She stamped down the retching sensation on her stomach and concentrated on finding anyone alive. Anyone. If she could find just anybody alive... She concentrated on not finding Booth. Every face she turned to her she sighed in relief it was not him. If she did not see him there, then he would certainly be cracking jokes when she next saw him. And then she would give him his medal back. She worked diligently, concentrating on what could be done. She worked until the sun was setting and there was no more light. Until her eyes blurred and she could not make out small details like the amputation markings on some one's leg. Someone came behind her and whispered in her ear:

"Do you thinks there's some decent coffee anywhere around here?!"


	28. Of Heaven and Hell and all the things in

Chapter 3.9- Of hell and heaven and all the things in between

She could have cried with the relief of hearing that American accent. Instead, she finished the task in hand, took a deep breath and composed her sternest face before turning to him. She had prepared a cutting remark but when she turned around, saw he was covered in blood. She knew she was over reacting but she couldn't help herself. She pulled him under the light of the makeshift operation room and almost ripped apart his uniform. She looked him over up and down, thoroughly, feverishly. She run her hands through his head, his torso, his arms. He let her inspect him. He knew she need it. They had both seen more than their fair share of death, of dead and maimed today. He was quite certain that none of them would be able to forget about any of it. The images were burnt on his retina like a vision of hell. The moans of the dying, the prayers, the despair. Zach's silly smile though he knew he was dying. He would deal with the guilt about not keeping the kid safe later, on his own. He would not burden her with that particular sharp pain. But his breathing came easier just from the nearness of her.

He held her hands in his to hold her still. He knew she was running on adrenaline and that she needed to blow off steam before anything else.

"McPretty... Temperance..." His voice soothed her. He ran his hand through her hair and pulled her to him, into the safety and the comfort of his arms. She took her time surrendering to that warmth of his, her body too jazzed up to mould to his right there and then. But he kept on murmuring something in her ear, something that sounded remarkably like _I love you _and slowly, gradually, that electric buzz in her ears and in her fingers gave way to a sense of peace and calm. She finally relaxed into his arms, melting into him. She hadn't seen him for nine months but he still smelled the way she remembered, his arms were still home and the beating of his heart was still an old song in her ears. One of those days she would tell him all about that, how it felt to be his. But not now. She did not want to associate the moment she told him she loved him with the ugliness of the war, of the battle he had just survived. Tears ran freely down her face. She wasn't even aware of them, not even when he pulled her back just a fraction to kiss her. Or when he tried to kiss all her tears away.

He picked her up in his arms and walked away from the tent where those that had died on the operating table were still piled up, a stark reminder of just how blessed they had both been, to walk out of hell without so much as a scratch. There was a tent where meals were being served. He walked in and settled her on a chair to go fetch them coffee and something to eat. When he came back, he had also a bowl with water where he soaked her hands. There was dried blood on them, under her nails, between her fingers. He washed her hands gently as she looked at them in shock. When he'd told her, all that time ago, about how some people should not be in a war, he never thought he would see her going through this. His bright angel in London was now sporting a broken wing. He wished he could have spared her this. He wished he could have protected her from this, from all that could cloud her eyes.

******************

The night was spent under the cover of the stars. There was no where they could have slept together. The Rangers had their own barracks as did the Red Cross staff. So after a meal, they sat by the fire burning outside, oblivious to all those that still lingered outside. Most of them were unable to sleep. But Booth and Temperance were just lost in each other's eyes, in each other's scent, in each other's presence.

As the morning arrived, the Rangers prepared for their next mission. They would leave camp by 0800. Their ultimate goal was the liberation of Paris. But there was a long stretch both of road and battle before getting there.

Booth took her hand and walked away from the camp. He wanted to look at something nice, wanted to _say see you later _looking at other than the haunted faces of those around them, away from the smell of blood that wafted in from the beach with the sea wind, away from that insane war. They walked inland, hand in hand. They heard a creek nearby and found it surrounded by happy yellow daffodils, incongruently pretty against Zach's blood still on his uniform, against the orders shouted just yards way from them. He picked one and put it in her hair. Temperance dreamt often, in the times to come, of daffodils, smelling their scent, blind to any colour but that jolly yellow. She met Booth in her dreams, always in that field full with daffodils growing against death.

*****************

Temperance had decided not to return to London with the Red Cross. She just couldn't. She had to be as close as possible. After Booth left, she sat with Commander Cullen and informed him of her decision. It did not shock him. He had seen her walking the beach like she was in a trance of some sort and how her eyes died just a little bit with each man she pronounced dead in her operating table. He figured it might have something to do with the American he had seen carrying her lovingly out of that tent. He intended to defer her request and transfer her to Paris though he wasn't quite sure why she'd want to do that. Reports arriving from Paris were of a dismal situation. Maybe she wanted to meet the American there... who was to to know. But he signed her transfer papers and arranged for safe transport for her.

Angela met her at the Gare du Nord. They held on to each other as sisters would. They were as such to each other.

"So tell me, are the news true? About Normandy? Was it really that horrible?" They immediately hushed their conversation and showed their Red Cross papers to the man in the SS uniform that stopped them.

"Yes..."

"Sweetie... Have you seen Booth? Was he there? I heard that the Rangers were involved..."  
"Yeah..." She showed Angela the medal that Booth had told he did not want back yet. "Not a single scratch on him Angela. A single one. Who's Hodgins?" Angela smiled. It was a sad smile, so unlike the Angela Temperance used to know, but a smile nonetheless. They took a bus to Angela's flat in Montmartre. It was unlike Angela to spare any details. But this was a different Angela. It took some getting used to. _She's been at war too_.

************************

July went by like a flash. Temperance worked alongside Hodgins and Angela at Les Invalides. It was gruelling work with very limited resources and far too many in need of medical care. Hunger and and hunger related diseases festered. At nine o'clock every evening, they would congregate around a clandestine radio Hodgins had supplied to listen to the BBC World Service. Sometimes, there would be a message from Booth. _The angel is taking me closer. Stay safe._ There would be a location and she would check it on the map of France and track his progress to Paris. She knew there were battles and skirmishes along the way. He did not give any hints on it. But she knew. In her heart, she knew the danger he was in. And she held on to the medal hanging from her neck as, she was sure, he would hold on to the brass button on his pocket.

And then one day, a civilian clad Booth walked into the hospital. He never explained how he found her there. Never had the time. He walked into a room behind her and whispered in her ear

"What does a guy have to do around here to get a decent coffee?" She turned to hug him. He had to push her back slightly as his arm was in a sling. Angela had walked in behind him, intrigued by the tall figure of a man. Her usual smile was back in face when she recognized him.

"Lieutenant Booth" and she ran to hug him.

"It's Captain now, if you don't mind!"

"Wow!" She kissed him once on each cheek and walked out of the room. "Sweetie, I'll stay at Hodgins' today. Get out of here now. Don't wait for something else to happen."

Temperance finished writing the chart for the patient sleeping peacefully on the bed and hung it and then turned to Booth.

"She's right. Let's get out of here." And prepared to walk ahead of him. Booth took her hand and pulled her back to him. It seemed to him that his angel's broken wing was not yet healing. He lifted the arm on the sling to fit her against his chest and them closed himself around her. She resisted at first. She needed to resist. If he was going to be in Paris for a few nights only, she would need to guard herself. She would need to be strong for the time ahead without him once more. But then, and because he just had that effect on her, that he just pushed away at the sadness and the heartache, she just yielded. To the warmth, to the reassuring heartbeat, to the feeling of completeness when she was in his arms. _How did that song go? Your arms are my castle..._ Yes, that would be something like that. God knew that he had been in every single one of her actions, of her thoughts, of her prayers for the last year. God, it had been a year since they had made love and she could still smell him on her skin, still feel him on her.

Temperance wouldn't have remembered how she got to the apartment of the Rue des Artistes. It would have taken them a bus ride and a walk, but she couldn't remember for the life of her. But one moment she was still in uniform standing in from of a sleeping patient and the next, she was standing in her little room not quite believing that Booth was really with her, in the flesh, not as he usually was, a translucid presence with no more substance than her memories, vivid though they were.

Booth couldn't quite bare the sadness in Temperance's eyes. He would have been forgiven for thinking she wasn't happy to see him. She had seemed distant in the hospital. Except then, when he hugged her, she slowly came back to him. The journey to Paris had not been easy to him. The battle for Omaha had been as close to hell as he'd ever want to be with young Addy dying in his arms. It was Addy's blood on his uniform when he'd found Temperance. But for her it would have been unbearable. And he just knew that a lot of her had died that day, on that beach.

There wasn't much that he could do except give himself to her. He hugged her in the warm early August air. Someone played music from an old gramophone outside their window. He did not understand French but the voice was quite extraordinary. It called out to the romantic heart in him. He sat on her single bed and pulled her to him, to lay down on that small bed cuddled up in his arms. She wasn't even aware of how sad she was until she saw it in his eyes. There it was, that worry, the grief and that extra indefinable thing she read in his eyes. He was finally in her arms and she was not giving him all that she had saved in her heart to tell him when they next met again. She moved to kiss him. She wanted to kiss him lightly, just to gather the courage for what she had to tell him, that she had felt him with her everyday, that she had seen him everyday in her waking hours and in her dreams, in her prayers and every other conscious thought, that he had became as the air that she breathed. She just needed a light kiss to gather her courage. But when he kissed her back, she also remembered the fire all over her body when they kissed, the heat and wet between her legs, the absolute need to consume him physically, to surrender, to burn herself in his fire. It was a need so pressing that put on hold all that she had to say and concentrated on the healing power of his touch. How he pushed away at the loneliness and the sadness and brought back the light, just like when you walk in a dark place and then the sun comes up suddenly, blinding in all its glory. She gave him access to all of her, to her body and to her heart. And she demanded her own space in him. They made love. The made love in silence, each too engrossed in the other to say the words _I love you _out loud.


	29. Tu es partout

3.10- Tu es partout

There was knock on the door later that evening. Temperance opened the window and saw a small boy holding a small bag in his hand.

"Madmoiselle, c'est pour vous" She gave him a coin and an amicable pat on the dark brown curls. When she opened the bag, she found a paper box from the best boulangerie in Paris with two coffee éclairs.

"Angela!" they both smiled and laughed. Yes, that girl would always be on the look out for romance. Temperance removed her robe. Just like they had done in London a year ago, and they sat on the floor for a picnic, more out of sentiment than of need. And just like in London, they walked around the apartment naked. Through the open window, a sound of music invaded the tiny space. The same song Booth had heard earlier in the late afternoon. It was a voice ripe with heartache.

"What does it say? The song" he completed when she seemed not to follow.

She concentrated on the song for a little.

_Tu es partout car tu es dans mon coeur  
Tu es partout car tu es mon bonheur  
Toutes les choses qui sont autour de moi  
Meme la vie ne represente que toi_

Des fois je reve que je suis dans tes bras  
Et qu'a l'oreille tu me parles tout bas  
Tu dis des choses qui font fermer les yeux  
Et moi je trouve ca merveilleux

"She's is singing about her lover... she says that he is_ everywhere because he is in her heart, he is her happiness... ____"Sometimes I dream that I am in your arms... and you speak softly in my ear... you tell me things that make me close my eyes... and I find that marvellous...""_

"Dance with me Temperance..." She moved into his arms, the moonlight reflecting on her pale naked skin. It was amazing, she thought, how well they fitted together, all their curves fitting into the other's. How they fit so perfectly together, knew each other's needs so well as if they'd been together for a whole lifetime... She could just close her eyes and the world around her would disappear, would loose tangibility. If he stayed with her she could just pretend that there was not a war raging outside, that people were not dying. She had to ask him how long he would stay, how long they had this time. But not just now. There were so many things between them that were in the _just not now_.

When the music stopped with a scratch of the needle on the record, they didn't notice it. They were kissing. When there were shouts outside, they didn't pay attention. They were murmuring words of love. When the ground stirred, they did not realize it. They were making love. But as the fever of touching and consuming each other subsided, when their sense of hearing captured more than the beating of their heart, and the loving words said, the world had concentrated itself on the ominous silence of a bubbly neighbourhood, of an interrupted love song. Then, there was only the sound of German tanks and machine-guns destroying Montmartre and of the collapsing neighbourhood.

Booth wrapped Temperance in a blanket and tried to pull her out of the collapsing little house on the Rue des Artistes. The roof first and then the structure of the house collapsed on them. Booth covered her with his body sustaining the first of the impact. But the weight crushed them. They knew. It was the clarity that comes before death.

"I love you, Booth"

"Next time I'll protect you better, my Temperance. It's a promise."

*********

Epilogue

_By my calculations, at the time they died, Hitler was in his bunker asking if Paris had been destroyed. It was the Nazis' final destructive act over Paris. Within hours, the allies entered Paris and though there were battles, Paris was liberated. How ironic that they had both survived the bloodiest of battles to die in each other's arms in a little house in the artists' den that is Montmartre. Just yards away, the Sacr__é__ Coeur escaped unscathed to the Nazi destroying fury. I did tell you some of it might have been embellished... it does not matter to the truth in this story, to the truth of their love. What matters is the lessons that should be learnt: that life is too short for delaying the things you need to say, for feeling the things you need to feel. That sometimes, being afraid is just an enemy that you need to conquer. I like to think that they'll find a way to be together again. They left far too much unsaid- which was their own fault, left far too much unlived- which was not. _

_Temperance was the best friend I could have hoped for: She came to me when I needed her the most. She could have been in London. Oddly, it became safer after we left, and for all the rationing, there was no miserable hunger... Instead, she came to me. And it cost her her life. And I can tell you now, that if there is such a thing as coming back, I'm going to find a away to be close to her again, to repay her in kind for what she did for me in those final days. And him, for putting that light in her eyes. _

_It's a promise. _

_Angela Hodgins_


	30. Journeys end where lovers meet

**Author's note- Ok, guys, here it is, the final chapter, the end. Thank you for sticking with me for all this time, for reviewing... Thank you!**

**Have a very happy New Year.**

**Jane**

4- Epilogue- London, England, August 2008

"_Journeys end where lovers meet"_

_William Shakespeare_

"Come on, Booth, I'm hungry", Brennan was cold despite the calendar saying it was August. The day was grey, wet and miserable. The case was finished and that street was giving her the chills. It was something that could only be described as a feeling of foreboding. Something about it was not quite right. She looked again at the ruin of the old St Peter's church. _Odd_, she thought, _really odd_. It was like she had seen it before, been there before. Although not exactly like herself, more like a version of herself… like déjà vu…

Booth was weird as well. He kept on staring at the ruined church, unable to take his eyes even to walk straight. He had bumped into an old lady who had, Brennan thought, very britishly, apologized as if it were her own fault. He walked on, shaking his head, swatting away strange feelings that he could not explain. They walked into a dinner that sat in the shade of St. Paul's, not so different from their habitual one.

"What's wrong, Booth?"

"Not sure… It's like I've been here before, but different… You know, not really me, but me…"

"Déjà vu", Brennan supplied.

"Yeah, I guess… like in The Matrix. Just a glitch in the system"

"What matrix?"

"Not a matrix. The Matrix", Booth highlighted the name of the film with his fingers drawing inverted commas in the air. "It's a film…" she still looked blankly at him. "Never mind that now. I guess it happens to everybody at one point or another..."

"Probably" She kept her own feelings to herself.

A waitress made her way to the table. She sounded bored when she asked them for their orders.

Booth was in the process of ordering coffee and pie when Brennan interrupted.

"You know, you go to a different country, at least try what they have to offer. You can get pie any time of the day at home. Try something local…"

"I don't want different. I want home" He knew he sounded like a petulant child. He didn't care. He was homesick, cold and in a state of general irritation. Thank God for the 4h of July.

"Fine!" Brennan looked at the menu and ordered spotted dick. At that, Booth chocked on his own tongue.

"Seriously, what's wrong with these people? Actually, never mind that. What's wrong with you, ordering something with that name?"

"It's actually a really nice desert." She sounded condescending.

Booth humphed and ordered his beloved pie. They waited silently for the food each mulling over the feelings brought on by the ruined church.

"So did you ever have déjà vu?" Booth asked Bones just as the waitress was coming in with their orders. Assuming he was addressing her, the waitress replied absently:

"I don't think we have that, sir, but if you want me to, I can ask in the kitchen if they do it" She supplied helpfully in an Eastern European accent. Booth snorted his coffee.

"Well, actually" Brennan raised her index to the girl, "he was referring to paramnesia, from Greek para or near and mnēmē, meaning memory. Also known aspromnesia, which is the experience of feeling sure that one has witnessed or experienced a new situation previously... it's actually quite common as a phenomenon." The waitress looked blankly as Brennan ploughed on. Booth just tried dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Only the girl wouldn't go.

"Oh... so, a memory of a past life..."  
"Of course not. We do not retain sentience after death. That's just fiction."  
"And you believe that, do you?" There was now a spark of interest in the girl's eyes.

"Well, yes, I do" Booth could see Brennan getting impatient.

"Show me your palm, then..."

"No! Why would I do that?" The challenge of the initial _no_ had faded into a question mark

"You're right... you shouldn't... if you're afraid" Booth observed the exchange, just waiting for the moment he would have to save the waitress from one of Brennan's tongue lashings.

"Come on then, McPretty, show the lady your hand!"

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing..."  
"That was not nothing. That was something...."

"It's an expression, Bones, just an expression... Why the interest?"  
"I don't like nick names, pet names or any other kind of short names..."  
"I call you Bones"

"And I'm still waiting to see your palm... come on, don't be shy..." The girl coaxed Brennan. Surprisingly for Booth, she did stretch her palm to the girl. There was a spitting like sound that had Brennan pulling her hand away fast as lightening only to hear the girl laugh, a laugh that did not belong to someone so young.

"My great grandmother used to do that for real... she said it cleared the vision..."

"And you believe that, do you" Brennan imitated.

"Of course not. Your hands are quite clean, I must say..." And she pulled up a chair, laughing whole heartedly and sat by their window table.

"Figuratively or literally?"

"Literally! You see", she pointed at the criss-crossing of lines of lines in Brennan's hand, "This is your life line. This one" she slid her finger around the thumb, is your heart line... and all these ones across them are the events of your life. There are quite a lot of these lines across. And you are not this old." The stare that met her was blank. Brennan, Booth thought, would be an excellent poker player.

"I don't don't know what that means."

"No, you wouldn't... I think you tried very heard to forget."  
"What?"

"That there was great love in your life... not this one life and not just once either... in this one you've known nothing but heartache...." and she traced a series of lines radiating from the thumb towards the centre of the palm. "You survived because you're stubborn." And Booth snorted.

"Well, she pegged that one right! You're as stubborn as they come"

"But there was great love before. And, unless you let go of the pain, you'll never know joy. You're trying too hard to run from pain. And the more you run, the more it catches up with you."

"This is all nonsense. The lines in our hands are like expression marks.... you have them because of the movements of your hands. They are also like fingerprints- in a larger scale. Also, if I had more adipose tissue in my hands, there would be less lines... none of that is metaphysical. It's all scientifically proven."

"Oh, it must be comforting to believe things like that." Brennan pulled back and crossed her arms defensively across her chest.

"Next you'll be reading my future. Do you read tea leaves as well?"

"Ah, that would cost you fifty quid! This I do for fun!"

"You mess with people's minds for fun?" Booth intervened.

"Well, some people go to the cinema, others read books... I get my stories from palms. It's cheaper and so good it beats fiction any time."

"She's not messing with my mind, Booth. And you don't need to defend me. And you" Brennan turned to the girl, staring into the black eyes "And you... OK, tell me something I don't know!" The girl thought for a fraction of a second.

"There is lot I could tell you that you don't know.."  
"And that does not qualify as one" There was a sigh at the interruption.

"I was going to say that a little show and tell is in order. For instance, in a minute or so, I'll ask your..." and she turned to Booth "what is it that you say you are to her? Colleague? To show us his palm. And see this line here, the life line? It will be cut across like this- exactly like this, in the same three sections, at the exact same spot. And you'll see how those lines run to the heart line- this one here- at the exact same intervals as in yours. In fact, His palm will be the exact mirror of yours. Your lunch is on me if I'm wrong. No excuses, no taking back. Exactly the same."

"I like those odds, Bones. Come on, this is an overpriced meal anyway." Brennan held on to her silence strategy.

"Well, what have you got to loose?"

"OK... Show her your palm, Booth, let's get a free lunch out of this" But her heart jolted when Booth put down his fork and turned his hand palm up.

The three congregated to see it. The waitress silently pointed her finger at the lines, tracing the life line with its cuts across, the identical three sections, at the same spaces, running to the line of the heart. Brennan expected to see triumph in the girl's black eyes. She saw none. She had them raise their hands, and without either of them knowing how it had happened, their palms were touching, each the mirror of the other, left hand to left hand. And when they touched, skin to skin, there it was, that familiar heat, that sense of completeness, the same they remembered from the kiss under the mistletoe and, maybe even further back.

Brennan broke the contact first.

"It's just a coincidence"

"There is no such thing"

"I don't know, Bones, what are the odds of that?" Brennan sighed in defeat she wasn't ready to admit.

"What is it with you and odds today? I'm not sure. What do you want me to do with information anyway? What does it mean"

"You know what, I'm only a gypsy girl. Telling you what to do with it will cost you extra..." She said with a smile that cut the bargain down to a joke. Come on, you're smart. You'll figure it out. He has!"

"So you're telling me that everything is written in our palms, that we have no choice in the matter..."  
"Wow, how did you get to that conclusion so fast- and so wrong? All I said was that deja vu is not just that Greek thing you said... Honestly... And that will be 18 Pounds fifty, please!" She said putting the bill on the table. "Enjoy your over priced meal!" and she walked away, swinging her hips to some imaginary music and silently wishing the Americans luck and strength for what she'd had seen in their palms that was coming in their not so distant future, offering a prayer for their journey together. _Everything has a right time, specially, affairs of the heart._

**Perhaps one final review? Yes? Thank you!**


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